Of Serendipity and Balance
by LogicalPremise
Summary: Warning: Crackfic. What if someone hit the Premiseverse with a happy button, and Ahern was the Spectre that Shepard should have been? Will only make much sense if you are familar with the rest of my series. M mostly for language, and violence. Does not feature angst, conspiracies, or sanity, and it's Saren, Balak and Ahern against an enemy you will die laughing to behold.
1. They see me trolling, they hating

**OF SERENDIPITY AND BALANCE**

* * *

**WARNING: THIS IS THE _WORST_ SORT OF CRACKFIC.**

**IT WILL MAKE LITERALLY NO SENSE UNLESS YOU ARE ALREADY FAMILIAR WITH MY OTHER STORIES. THIS IS A NIGHTMARISH INVERSION OF THE PREMISEVERSE, SUFFUSED WITH HOPE, JOY, PEACE, AND PONIES. **

**WELL, OKAY, NO PONIES. BUT YOU GET THE IDEA. NONE OF IT WILL MAKE SENSE TO YOU UNLESS YOU COMPARE AND CONTRAST TO MY MAIN SERIES. **

**ALSO, THERE IS CURSING. LOTS AND LOTS OF CURSING.**

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

* * *

Arcturus Station.

A bastion of humanity's will to power, floating almost arrogantly in the depths of the void. Some viewed it as a weak copy of the far more mighty Citadel, others saw it as merely a prudent defensive station that had grown over time.

What no one debated is that it had become a place where the government of the Systems Alliance did a great deal of gentle diplomacy. The galaxy was at peace, economies were booming, and the dark threat of intergalactic war everyone feared had never materialized. Prepared for a hostile galaxy, humanity had instead found other beings mostly focused on prosperity and growth.

That still left a need for deft politicking, of course – one filled by the endless small conference rooms around the girth of the mighty station. One of these rooms, proclaimed by it's heavy wooden portals and the richly detailed brass plate to one side reading 'SA Council Relations Board', was perhaps the penultimate place where certain decisions regarding humanity's interactions with aliens were made. Here, humanity had come to a deal involving the Treaty of Farixen. Here, they'd hashed out a formal cessation of hostilities with the Turian Hierarchy, some eight weeks after the end of the First Contact War.

And here was where humanity took its first steps towards what it's leaders hoped would be, one day, a seat on the Council itself.

The room was rather small, given it's importance, and plainly decorated. The walls were steel-paneled, the floor carpeted in plain blue. The long meeting table was flat black armaplast, inlaid with the Alliance symbol in white. Marring its mundane surface were a collection of file folders and data pads, the very oldest and newest in documentation.

The air was tainted by cigar smoke, rising in lazy whorls before being snatched away by the air filters, the expensive Eden Prime tobacco bringing a teasing, sweet scent to the otherwise dry air. Three men and one woman sat in the room, but one of the men was unimportant, merely a recorder of events, faded blond hair shorn in buzz cut, framing a square, empty face. His uniform was crisp as he began transcribing the latest words into a new pad.

One of other men in the room sat almost stiffly, the woman at his side poised and elegant, while the other man had a far stiffer posture. They were glancing over various reports, dispatches, and data-pads as a long block of text scrolled across the haptic screen on the wall.

A puff of cigar smoke threaded into the air, followed by a mellifluous voice. "And that is what has transpired thus far. In return for our kind cooperation with our cutesy alien playmates, the best that Branson and Kyle were able to dicker from them was the Spectre, banking reform, and the economic package."

The man dumped his ashes. "I trust you alll understand the requirement for discretion in what we've discussed so far? There are, and always will be, elements like the squints, who would love to throw a monkey wrench into our plan to trade our discovery to the spikes and blues for a Spectre and a few more ships."

The woman next to the man gave a grimace of distaste. "Is such derogatory language necessary? I know we are not on the best of terms with the Turians...but in the larger scale of things, the First Contact War was hardly a war. Hostilities stopped within months, and yet thirty years later we still hate them?"

The man across the table gave a shallow smile. His frame was large, fading from muscle with age. Old, harsh red scars marred the craggy strength of his profile, the lantern jaw, the hard blue eyes, the firm, almost dour set to his mouth. His uniform was ablaze across the chest with ribbons, each one a testament to courage, valor, and skill. Four stripes of pure gold perched on either shoulder, symbols of both power and duty. His voice was a grating, slate drawl, like the crunch of gravel.

"Senator Adkins, Minister Shepard. I think if High Admiral Dragunov were here, he would say the same thing I will : our interactions with the turians have been as cordial as we can make them – the design of the Normandy frigate class proves that. As does one of their own asking for a Spectre recommendation." He sighed. "Rather than argue over slang terms we should focus on picking a candidate that represents Humanity in the best possible light."

Adkins nodded. "Very well, Grand Admiral Hackett. Problem is... we've reviewed most of these candidates already. The Alliance hasn't been to war in a very long time, and while most of them look good on paper, none of them has the kind of chops a Spectre would need. They're going to pair up whoever we send with Saren Arterius … he's a cold-blooded sonofabitch, we send him a weakling and we may as well not even bother."

Minster Han Shi Shepard smiled frostily. "I assume you are including my daughters in this statement? Both Sara and Hannah have demonstrated a great deal of potential in combating piracy along the rim."

Adkins sighed. "I know that, madam minister. But let's be honest – if we send either daughter of our prime minister into this, it's going to look political. The spik... sorry. The turians, that is, do not handle politics well, which is why the volus broke away from them three centuries ago. I merely think it is more prudent to send a hardened warrior to this task than...well..."

Minister Shepard's Asiatic features sharpened in cold dislike. "Than a PR flack, is that it?"

Hackett coughed. "There is one other person who might fit the requirements we didn't consider, in particular because he's not known for his … ah, social graces. But if the Senator is right about who they will be sending to assess – "

Adkins coughed. "It's not just Saren. It's his damned batarian sidekick Balak, too."

Hackett continued, unperturbed. "- then it does make sense we need to send someone who won't be intimidated and send the wrong message. Given, as the senator pointed out, our paucity of veterans, that leaves us only one choice."

He tapped the screen, and the haptic display shifted, to the ice-cold features of a man in his late forties, perhaps Reddish blond hair cut in a precise Marine fashion, barely frosted with gray at the temples. Cool dark eyes, a rugged jaw, and thin, bloodless lips were the center point of his almost blocky head.

Adkins put down his cigar. "Are you out of your mind? You want to send him?"

Minister Shepard's face twisted into displeasure. "If this is some form of joke, Grand Admiral, it is in exceedingly poor taste."

Hackett gave a thin smile. "No joke. Tradius Ahern is the only other person we can be sure who will get the job done other than Kai Allard Leng, and Colonel Leng is needed to oversee Operation Orthrus with Mr. Harper. His participation in the Liberation of Shanxi and the Nine Hour War with the batarians, as well as his long anti-pirate history, he has got the most experience of any of our line officers."

Adkins leaned back, puffing thoughtfully on the cigar. "He's ruthless. His assualt on Elysium got a lot of civilians killed – he won't be popular with the colonies."

Minister Shepard folded her arms. "He's also an uncultured boor who has displayed a number of troubling tendencies towards violence and cynicism. We send him, and we are sending a message."

The comm-link in the room, silent until now, illuminated, a rich bass voice interjecting. "And with all due respect, I think it is exactly the message we should send. This is a bright time for humanity, and we may be friends with everyone except the yahg, but that doesn't mean we can send a message that we are weak." A pause, then the voice continued. "Additionally, it doesn't hurt that he is rough around the edges – they still think humans are a bunch of backwater rubes anyway. Ahern's smarter than he sounds."

Hackett gave a nod. "Exactly. Seeing that Ambassador Saracino agrees with me, I would suggest we go ahead and make the call. The other candidates simply aren't going to be able to measure up to war veterans like Saren and Balak."

Adkins sighed. "You make the call, I'm not listening to him rant for forty five minutes because we interrupted his vacation."

O-TROLOLOLOL-O

Captain Tradius Ahern reclined on the wooden deck chair, his muscular physique bare except for swim trunks and sunshades to shield his eyes. The surf boomed hollowly along the shoreline of black sand, and the sounds of children shrieking and laughing was a pleasant counterpoint to the jazz ensemble music coming from his omni-tool, sitting next to his drink on the little table by his side.

His partner and long-time friend, Rachel Florez, reclined on an identical chair a few feet away, dressed in an extremely skimpy bikini that didn't do much to hide her own muscular frame or feminine curves. She was flipping idly through the padd in her hands, her own drink – some fruity thing in a complicated glass – now little more than melting ice.

They'd both just gone done doing twelve weeks of deep-cover intercept work in the Dark Traverse, the ugly outskirts of Alliance space dominated mostly by the Volus-Vorcha combine – pirates, slavers, drug running assholes and, worst of all, fucking mad scientists. On the plus side, the experiments they found were all being done on animals.

On the minus side – they were researching a new drug designed to heighten asari sexual pleasure while blunting or even destroying biotic capability. If that crap hit the market the Asari Republic would have been in big trouble. Thankfully, the AIS – and more importantly, Ahern and Florez – had smashed the drug ring and its headquarters after their painstaking infiltration lead them right to the source.

Six weeks of rest and relaxation sounded very good to Ahern indeed. His on-again, off-again relationship with his partner was in its off-again phase – it was sloppy, unprofessional, dangerous and against regulations, but it was also fantastic sex. The only problem was that Ahern and Florez clashed in so many ways that once the stress and familiarity faded the relationship fell apart.

He clucked to himself – he knew it was a completely stupid fucking thing to bang his own partner. Then again, it was completely fucking stupid for him to even be in the military any more. He was almost fifty years old now – old enough he should be flying a desk, not running about with kids half his age – but the Alliance still needed him, and if he quit they'd partner Rachel with some lunkhead who'd just get her killed.

And she wouldn't retire. Stubborn bitch.

He lifted his drink, sipping the fine scotch slowly, trying to clear his thoughts. He needed to relax. He would worry about other shit in six weeks, when they reported back on duty – until then, he was going to get drunk, eat real food instead of goddamned survival rations, probably start a bar fight with a krogan, and make passes at every human woman and asari he saw.

He figured three days of that would have Rachel clawing his clothes off to stake her claim again.

She looked at him, frowning. "I can hear your stupid, churning away in your head, Tradius. What are you thinking about?"

He gestured with his free hand to a giant krogan in the distance, probably someone's private security off-duty, drinking at one of the open air bars, his red crest and face marked by heavy scars. "Thinking about picking a fight with that krogan over there."

Florez glanced at the alien, then at Ahern, then shrugged, leaning back and returning to her reading. "If you want to spent your vacation pissing into a catheter and on bone regeneration machines, be my guest. I won't get involved if he tears your stupid ass in half like a ketchup packet, though."

Ahern grunted. He was drunk, and that made him feel good. He was about to get up when his omni-tool glowed with an incoming call...and then flashed the red and white of an emergency signal.

"Fuck. Me."

Florez checked her own omni, and seeing it not lit up, snickered viciously. "Maybe later. You better answer that for now."

Ahern shot her a vile glare, before snatching the thing up and slotting it. "Ahern here. I'm on goddamned leave."

The hard, gritty voice of the Grand Admiral cut through his anger. "Not any longer, Captain. Report to Arcturus in three days – something has come up and you are needed.""

He ground his teeth. "Admiral, with all due fucking respect – in this case, none, you ancient ass – I've just spent three fucking months dealing with goddamned vorcha, making shitty deals with volus, in the ass end of nowhere without a single goddamned decent meal. I've been on leave NINE fucking hours and you are already recalling me?"

Hackett's voice sounded almost sad. "I wouldn't have if I had a choice, Tradius. If this turns out the way I think it will, I can promise you – in writing, approved by BuPers – three to six months without active duty – training, mostly, on Earth or at Arcturus. No deployments."

Florez sat bolt upright at that, mouthing to him 'TAKE IT YOU FOOL'.

Ahern coughed. "That...sounds pretty implausible. Sir. What in fuck do you need me for?"

Hackett's voice grew quieter. "You've been tapped to be Humanity's first Spectre. Now get your ass to Arcturus. The SCV Tokyo will be in orbit tomorrow morning – get on it. If there's a delay, you're authorized to use any other methods of transport to get here as soon as possible. Don't dawdle, Tradius. Hackett out."

The link went dead, and Ahern stared at the omni-tool stupidly for a few seconds, until he sighed and leaned back against the deck chair. "Well...fuck."

Florez shrugged. "Congratulations. Wonder why they picked you and not some pretty boy like Leng or Anderson."

Ahern shrugged back, closing his eyes. "Never gave a shit. Won't start now. I'm going to enjoy the rest of the day and see what they have to offer, and if I don't like it I'll fucking retire." He sighed. "Going to suck – I can't remember the last time I went into battle without you at my six."

She snorted and leaned back as well. "Who the fuck says I'm letting you go alone?"


	2. Full Speed Aderp

**OF SERENDIPITY AND BALANCE**

* * *

**WARNING: THIS IS THE _WORST_ SORT OF CRACKFIC.**

_This is what happens when you write sixty thousand words in two weeks - your brain cracks wide open.  
_

* * *

"Alright, I'll bite – what kind of fucking mentally defective diaper-filler concocted this idea?"

Ahern stood in front of the Systems Alliance Admiralty board, dressed in the flat black uniform of the AIS. The Alliance command – Hackett, Dragunov and Kahoku – each stared down from their high seats atop the elevated desk that they sat behind.

The gnarled features of Dragunov split into a malicious grin as he spoke, his faint Russian accent lending his words an almost genial air. "I am sure I do not know what you are talking about, Captain Ahern. Your mission has been explained."

Ahern folded his arms. "You want me to go off with a goddamned pair of thrill-killers to pick up a goddamned alien-pod-person popsicle from a world so fucking boring it's name is a byword for sleeping? I checked the calender, April the first was nine days ago."

Dragunov sniffed. "There is no joke in this, Captain. The discovery on Eden Prime is game-changing. A beacon or a databank would have been enormous, but we could have kept that to ourselves. Finding a working stasis pod of a living Prothean … another thing entirely. We cannot let this fall into the hands of the Queen of Omega, or the Volus-Vorcha combine."

Hackett nodded along. "Or the Yahg Victorium."

Ahern snorted. "Given that the yahg ate the goddamned salarians, I'm not really hating them that much. But fine. We pick the frozen bastard up, drop him off on the Citadel. You could have sent anyone on this bullshit – what, we're expecting to be fucking attacked in goddamned middle of human space?"

Kahoku's moderate tones always got on Ahern's nerves, and when he spoke it was no exception to that. "Captain, could you make an attempt at decorum?"

Ahern examined his fingernails. "Fuck you, kid. I got zero reasons to do anything but hand you people my A4D and retire. I'm tired, I'm fucking old, my knee is going out on me, and I'm sick of running around like a deranged version of James Bond as re imagined by a ten year old. Five times you fuckers have pulled me out of the plans I had to quit – this last time you did it with a promise of R&amp;R and then doing some teaching on Luna. Now this shit."

He pointed a finger at the Alliance flag, hanging against the far wall. "I served that fucking flag longer than you have. Being a Spectre is dangerous, and working with a guy known as the Butcher is not exactly making me feel calmer. Saren's a bloody handed lunatic who's idea of finesse is to put a delay on the fucking fusion explosive, and Balak scares the shit out of yahg. Why in God's name should I agree to this shit?"

Hackett sighed. "There's no one else with the experience, Tradius. Anyone else we send would make humanity look weak."

Ahern snorted. "And we aren't weak? Last time I checked we were the retarded snot-blowing kid at the back of the short bus in technological terms, despite the asari and turians helping us out."

Dragunov averted his face to prevent his smile from showing, but Hackett shook his head. "It's more than that and you know it. Saren and Balak claim three previous Prothean sites have been hit without warning – twice, Beacons were taken. They think someone may try to attack, but have no clue who it may be or what their motives are. This is very likely to be a mission where, despite how easy it may sound, will develop complications."

Ahern sighed and Hackett continued. "Given that, whoever we send has to be able to hold their own in combat alongside the observers sent along, and the message we need to send is that humanity is ready. We can't do that by sending some green officer without the background in combat you have. And this is also important in other ways – if we can get you as confirmed as a Spectre, it opens up the chance for Humanity to join the Council."

Ahern rubbed his forehead. "You seem to be missing the part where I give a damn."

Hackett glanced at Kahuko, who nodded, speaking. "The reason, Captain, is simple : If you are successful and we are allowed to join the Council, it will result in an economic boom as trade limits are lifted and we can move forward. This isn't about danger, it is about advancing humanity."

Ahern rolled his eyes. "Jesus, you sound like a recruiting poster for Orthrus." He glanced at each of them. "There had to be more to it than that."

Hackett sighed. "Not really. However, I will say this – President von Grath personally expressed his desire for you to take the spot, and has reassured us that you would take it."

Ahern scowled. "That's low."

Hackett shrugged. "He said you owed him one for 'that business with Major Chakwas."

Ahern's eyes narrowed, and in the back of the room he heard Rachel Florez snickering. "I'm being guilt-tripped by a poncy Doc Holiday wannabe into risking my life with a pair of blood-thirsty lunatics over the fact I cock blocked him twenty fucking years ago?"

Dragunov could not quite stifle his own laughter. Kahoku looked chagrined and faintly disgusted. Hackett merely nodded gravely.

"Consider it payback for a life spent mostly causing me headaches, Tradius." He tapped a control on his desk. "Your orders are simple: proceed to the SCV Normandy, our newest project – a scout frigate, undetectable by FTL wake, heat or long-range photonics. Pick up Saren and Balak at Ferris Fields, then proceed to Eden Prime. Pick up the lifepod, along with the support team, and make fastest speed for the Citadel. Once there, the medical team and xenoarcheologists will take over."

Ahern arched an eyebrow. "How in shit are they supposed to evaluate me as a Spectre if nothing goes wrong?"

Hackett only folded his hands together in response. "They have a series of tasks for you to do alongside them for the next month. If at the end of it they are pleased, you will go into training from our side to give you grounding in the areas you aren't good in." The admiral gave another wintry smile. "If you decide you'd rather retire, I'm afraid we'd have to recruit the next best candidate. That would be Commander Florez."

Ahern sighed. "You're a real asshole, Steve."

Hackett nodded sagely. "I know."

O-TROLOLOL-O

"Look on the bright side, Tradius – they assigned me to work with you, at least." Florez walked beside Ahern as they headed for the Normandy at the Arcturus docks.

Ahern snorted. "Shit, this is a fucking milk run. Why in hell they would pick me to do this is beyond me, despite the shit they said in there. Hardasses like Saren and Balek aren't going to give a shit who we send, as long as they get to kill shit."

Florez shrugged, glancing at the heavy security around the docks as they entered the designated pier section. "Listening to the Three Stooges back there? I get the feeling whatever is happening they know more than they're fucking telling us. I get a possibly living Prothean is huge news, but … there are other Spectres they could have sent that were just as powerful without the propensity for blowing shit up. Why those two?"

Ahern grunted. "Apparently, Saren and Balak think humanity needs to be 'tested' or some shit. Pretty sure the fucking idea was for the Alliance to send some goddamned shit-for-brains hack like the Shepard girls or that emo fuckup Lawson, and then watch them go to pieces when things go to hell in a hand-basket. That lets them tell the Council we're a bunch of fucking nancies who can't handle pressure."

Florez nodded, flipping her hair out of her face as they rounded a corner. "And instead they're sending you. I have to admit, it's a good idea. The only other people who have your kind of combat experience would be me and Kai, and he's busy running that pack of terrorists."

Ahern grunted, displaying his ID to a pair of guards at a checkpoint in front of the main pier frontage access gate. "Orthrus isn't terrorists. They're just fuckups." They proceeded through the gates, and Ahern's eyebrows rose as he took in the SCV Normandy for the first time.

The ship was obviously brand new, shaped like normal frigate but with the turian curve to the hull and the wider wing-shapes and engines mounts of turian design. Slightly bigger than a battle frigate, it gleamed black and silver under the hot lights of the pier, the crew standing in small blocks in front of it.

Ahern sighed. "Jesus fuck, that thing looks like a goddamned deathtrap. No fucking armor at all. Shit-for-brains turians."

It took twenty minutes to get the crew aboard – he had to give a speech, of course. God forbid you send a group of grown men and women out to space without letting the CO channel Horatio Hornblower for ten minutes first, or the goddamned melodrama quotient might not be met. After stowing his gear, walking through the spaces, and finally reaching his quarters, he was about ready to stab someone.

The CO's quarters were small, but sufficient enough. Florez glanced around and smirked. "If it's this or a pod, I think I'll take this."

Ahern grunted, pulling open the tiny storage locker and shoving his shipbag into it. "That's probably not a good idea, Rachel. Crew will talk."

Florez sat down on the tiny sectional couch in one corner, rolling her eyes. "And you actually give a shit about that, Tradius? I'm not fucking Kahlee Sanders, you know. After thirty years of this shit, everyone in the goddamned Alliance knows about us." She folded her arms. "You're the one always saying I'm leading you by the nose."

Ahern sighed. "We're not having a fucking discussion about our relationship ten minutes before I formally take command of a new ship, Rachel." He turned to face her.

"You know me enough to know what my goddamned answer is. I'm too old for fucking drama, and I've put up with it mostly because I'm too lazy to make it work right. But I'm not going to do that anymore. Pick a place to stand, I'm tired of you manipulating me."

She narrowed her eyes. "So if I'm sucking your dick, it would be fine, but if I'm not because us as a couple is not the same as us being fuck buddies, I'm a manipulative bitch?"

Ahern rubbed his temples, and she sighed. "Alright, Tradius. I'm not trying to start drama. I'll … we'll sort what the shit is going on with us out after we do this thing for the Alliance." Her gaze hardened. "I'm not trying to manipulate you, just … get my own shit together. After things in the past, that's not easy to do, especially when you could buy it at any fucking time."

Ahern grimaced at that. "Alright, I'm an asshole and unfair to say that shit. Just..." He never finished, as the door chimed. "Enter!"

The officer who walked through was neatly attired, broad shouldered and heavyset, his features a mix of Hispanic and Caucasian. He wore the bars of a lieutenant, but the flash on his uniform showed he was actually an N1. The man who came in behind him was even bigger, almost gigantic, shaven bald, one arm replaced by neatly concealed cyberware given away by the bare metallic hand. The tabs of a command master chief glinted from his own immaculate uniform.

They both saluted, the officer speaking first. "Lieutenant James Vega, ship's XO, reporting."

The big black guy saluted a moment later, his voice a slow, hard drawl. "Master Chief Greg Cole, in brevet rank of lieutenant, ship's battle duty officer, reporting." His eyes flicked over Florez sitting in the corner before snapping back to Ahern's.

Ahern waved a hand. "At ease, relax, whatever. I haven't been active duty navy in over ten years, since I joined the AIS." He examined the two closely. "I presume we're about ready to ship out?"

Vega nodded. "Yes sir. Everything is good to go, Mr. Cole and I just did final walkarounds. Crew is hot and fired up, and so are the engines."

Ahern nodded. "You'd better keep an eye on that mouthy goddamned pilot or I'm going to throw his sarcastic ass out the airlock, XO. Other than that, the ship looked good, even if it was designed by a goddamned committee. What fucking genius built that CIC?"

Vega glanced at the deck, and Cole was struggling not to laugh. "Turians, sir. You know how they go, boss. Boom here can explain the process better."

Ahern raised an eyebrow. "Boom, Lieutenant?"

Vega scratched the back of his head. "Ah, sorry. I have this tendency to give people nicknames, because I'm bad at remembering names. Boom is Master Chief Cole."

Ahern's lips quirked. "This trip is getting better and better." He glanced at the two and shook his head. "We'll have a briefing in six hours, XO. Have that jackass pilot set course for the relay to Ferris Fields, flank speed, and if our drift comes in at over 5000k tell him he's going to booted from the ship for his medical condition."

Cole and Vega traded glances, then nodded. "Yes sir."

As they left, Ahern sighed, and decided there was no putting it off, he needed to contact the Council and let them know he was on the way to pick up Saren and Balak.

O-TROLOLOL-O

As the Normandy broke away from the docks, heading into deep space, a black-armored figure atop a nearby building watched through powerful binoculars, tucked into a space between two air conditioning units and concealed from sight by a strong cloaking field. As the ship grew smaller and smaller, the figure slipped between the units, dropping down a series of catwalks to land on top of an aircar.

Swinging down from the roof, the figure's slender form, that of a female, slid into the car, and it started moving a moment later. Inside, she killed her cloaking field, and glanced up at the driver. "They've left the docks, Nuwani-sama. The last to board the ship were Captain Tradius Ahern and Commander Rachel Florez, old veterans."

The asari driving the aircar cursed liberally. "The queen isn't going to like that, Kasumi."

The Asian thief-spy shrugged. "I'm not paid to give good news, Nuwani-sama. Besides, certainly our allies will be enough to handle three old men and an old woman?"

Treeya sighed. "Sometimes I wonder about you, Kasumi."


	3. Really? REALLY?

**OF SERENDIPITY AND BALANCE**

* * *

**WARNING: THIS IS THE _WORST_ SORT OF CRACKFIC.**

_This is what happens when your back hurts and no one emails you any more - Trellani. Yes.  
_

* * *

Ahern decided the Normandy had two good points to it: he could bellow orders directly at the pilot from the CIC and it had more than ample weaponry.

The main drawback, namely that it had the defensive capability of a small butterfly but only half the cuteness, was only slightly worse than the fact that, in their infinite wisdom, the Alliance and Hierarchy designers had somehow forgotten to include a fucking kitchen, instead only offering a 'food processor'.

This unholy device, as far as Ahern could figure out, was made by the same Satanic assholes who'd no doubt butchered a dozen virgins to make the coffee maker, a wretched machine that could only produce either vile sludge at roughly nine thousand degrees Kelvin, or a oily substance purporting to be tea but that would have killed a krogan dead on the spot. They were probably also in on the fucking elevator, which moved slower than a volus from a all-you-can-eat restaurant.

The medbay was the size of a postage stamp, having only three beds. And for some unfathomable reason they'd tacked on the tiniest goddamned science lab he'd ever seen. The entire ship had little areas of retardation that made him seriously wonder if the Alliance was still enforcing its no drug-use policies or not.

He wasn't convinced yet this wasn't some elaborate joke on the part of von Grath and Hackett, but as the Normandy erupted into the Ferris Fields system's outskirts, he was less inclined to think it was, if only because even von Grath would have choked the shit out of the ship's pilot by now.

Said pilot, a mouthy and smart-ass lieutenant named Moreau, turned out to get the ship in about 1500k of drift. That was very good – better than anything Ahern had ever seen – but he wasn't going to let the jackass know it. Standing behind the pilot in the cockpit, he merely grunted. "1500k is good. Then again, considering I'm still amazed you have the fucking brains to zip up your own jumpsuit in the morning, Moreau, you probably got fucking lucky."

Said pilot adjusted his cap, frowning. The kid had a definitely un-regulation start of a beard going, but Ahern wasn't a martinet about regs that made no sense to him. "Has anyone ever told you that you're an asshole, sir?"

Ahern nodded. "All the time, kid. All the time. If they stop, it means I'm doing something wrong. Take us in, and this time step on the fucking gas, I'm not getting any younger."

The pilot grinned. Conventionally, Alliance ships were supposed to travel at nominal 'cruising' speed to reduce HE3 use. Ahern wasn't having any of that shit – if he had a pilot who could drive, then he wanted to get this debacle completed as quickly as possible, before Alliance command had any other bright fucking ideas.

Then again, considering the pinnacle of stupidity already reached by this trip, he should be upbeat – surely this bullshit couldn't get any worse.

He tapped the comm. "This is Captain Ahern. We have entered Farris Fields, stand down from maneuvering stations. We will be picking up a pair of Council Spectres and transitioning to Eden Prime for a standard pickup. I want all hands to be at full efficiency, and if the alien bastards want anything I expect you to jump to and provide."

He paused. "I won't go into the details of our mission, but it should be short and without complications. Everyone in the damned Alliance should know my reputation by now, but I'll say it plain – do your jobs and keep us looking good and I don't give a damn what kind of hell you get up to on leave. Fuck up, or God help you, get somebody hurt by jacking around, and I will put my foot so far up your ass your lunch will come out your fucking nose."

"XO Vega, BDO Cole, and Doctor Michel, meet me in the comms room in five." He clicked off.

Joker gave a smirk. "Love your speeches, sir."

Ahern rubbed his eyes. "Just fly the goddamned ship, Joker, before I fuck you up by tripping over you."

The pilot sighed. "Jeez. What a dick."

Ahern turned away, chuckling quietly. Despite his smart-ass attitude, Ahern found himself liking the kid. He was a tough little bastard with a disease that would have left your average Alliance citizen crying like a shit-faced clown – or in a hospital bed, more likely.

He stomped through the ops alley, glancing over screens he barely understood. His rank of Naval Captain was an artifact of his days in the early conflicts with the turians, and it had been ten years or more since he'd actually captained a ship – technology had advanced more than a little in that span.

He rounded the CIC and entered the depressingly gray comms room, sighing to himself. He'd have to hit the books and study, and the only thing more boring than an Alliance tech manual would be a fucking Elcor production of War and Peace.

He was pleasantly surprised when barely five seconds after he got into the room, the three people he asked for arrived. Vega looked a touch rough, he'd not shaved since the departure and he was clearly harried by getting all the parts of the boat moving smoothly. Cole had a shit-eating grin on his face, and Ahern wondered what was up with that.

The ship's doctor, Michel, was a Frenchwoman, with a 'please fuck out my brains' accent to go with her sultry looks. The medical uniform she wore had to be a size too small to cling to her body that tight, and Ahern snorted.

"Sit down. This is a quick overview before we pickup General Ripper and his sidekick, Burn Everything That Moves." He gave a grimace as Cole coughed over his laughter and Michel looked confused.

Turning to her first, he squared his shoulders. "We've got a turian and a batarian coming on board. We have medical supplies and what not for them both, and food for the spike?"

"Oui, captain. We should be able to provide them with whatever goods they need. Admiral Chakwas briefed me personally on this before we departed." Her breathy voice added strange stresses to her words, and Ahern supressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Good. Vega, quarters?"

The big XO nodded. "The senior officer's quarters off the CIC. Ain't too big, but figure it's better than trying to squeeze them into a pod, sir. Plus they can't complain – only quarters any bigger are yours, and I can't see both of them sleeping in there."

Ahern nodded. "If they don't like it, fuck 'em. Cole. You brief the men?"

The master chief nodded. "I did." He paused. "Notice the MAKO in the bay, sir. That's ours?"

Ahern nodded, and Cole grinned. "Well, hell. When I joined the Corps, we didn't have any fancy-schmanzy tanks. We had sticks! Two sticks, and a rock for the whole platoon—and we had to share the rock!"

Ahern burst out laughing.

O-TROLOLOL-O

The arrival of Saren Arterius and Ka'hairal Balak onto the Normandy was done swiftly. They came aboard in a turian shuttle, and Ahern frowned when he saw they had a third member of their party, some big tittied asari matriarch with a warp sword.

He stepped forward, Rachel just behind him. "Welcome aboard. Tradius Ahern, AIS. This is my partner Rachel Florez."

Saren looked over both of them with his raptor gaze. His armor was deep black with silver highlights, the Spectre cape over his right shoulder trimmed in the gold of a Full Senior Agent. A gigantic pistol was displayed openly on a belt with many other gadgets on it. The turian stood a good foot taller than Ahern or Florez, and his mandible flickered as he finally returned the nod.

"Saren Arterius, Senior Spectre. My partner, Ka'hairal Balak. And this is Matriarch Trellani, former member of the Church of Athame. My … associate."

Ahern managed not to raise an eyebrow at that, merely nodding. "Very well. The Normandy's already on the way to Eden Prime. We've arranged basic quarters for you – things are a bit tight on a ship of this size, but I didn't think a hibernation pod calibrated for humans would work real well.

Balak finally spoke, his voice deep and somehow thoughtful. "A gesture we appreciate, Captain Ahern. Have you been briefed on our target?"

Ahern nodded. "I have. You sure this Prothean is still alive? Bastard's been frozen fifty thousand years, might have one hell of a a freezer burn."

Saren and Trellani looked confused by the term, but Balak's mouth only split in a grin. "Dead or alive, I'm sure we'll get something useful out of the … recovery. Our job is merely to secure the site, and ensure no one messes with the object as we transfer it. Given the Normandy's stealth capabilities, as long as we don't run into a pirate fleet or something else outlandish on the way down, we'll be fine."

Saren gave a jerky motion with his head. "And if not, I trust you live up to your reputation, Ahern."

Ahern met the turian's gaze squarely. "The only rep I have is nothing I've ever fought walked away alive."

Saren nodded. "That is the only reputation one should have.."

O-TROLOLOL-O

Sixteen hours later, Ahern glared sourly at Balak. "You just had to say something about fucking complications, didn't you? Vega. Reverse and hold at 38.5."

The Normandy had entered the Eden Prime system to find a scene of chaos, with the defensive squadron blown to shreds, panicky transmissions from the planet, and a thin nimbus of ships in orbit. The video from the surface was completely a mess, but a few images had been clear.

Quarians were attacking Eden Prime.

The quarians had not been seen in three centuries, ever since they had some kind of conflict with their own AI creations called geth. The massive quarian fleets had just withdrawn to the Perseus Veil and never came out, and no ship that entered the Veil returned.

The Council assumed the hostile AI had destroyed the quarians...and, given everything else was peaceful, decided not to go looking for a fight. And for three centuries no one had changed that status quo, until now.

Quarians in augmented battle-suits strode across the pristine surfaces of Eden Prime's towns and arcology parks, while strange white figures – possibly geth – supported their attacks. Given the peaceful nature of the system, Eden Prime had only a few GARDIAN towers and a small division, the 212, for self-defense.

The most worrying thing, of course, was the presence of a gigantic black ship on the surface, of a make and type Ahern had never seen before. Based on the expressions of Saren and Balak, they hadn't either.

The thing had just blown a sixty-story arcology tower the size of a dreadnought into shrapnel with a single shot of some kind of beam of red energy. Rough sensors indicated a strike of that power would have turned the Normandy into a little bit of metallic vapor and not much else.

Ahern examined the images on the screen, then turned to Saren. "You're the big dog, I'm just here for the ride."

Saren's eyes narrowed. "We have to get down there and attempt to recover the Prothean artifact. The stealth of the ship should protect it."

Ahern frowned. "And what about stopping the attack?"

Saren folded his arms. "Your own sensors pick up at least thirty ships in orbit that outclass your frigate signifigantly, not even counting the superheavy dreadnought there. We have to focus on the achievable. The fate of the colony is not a concern."

Ahern shook his head. As cold-blooded as the answer was, he couldn't really argue with it. One frigate against thirty quarian heavy cruisers wasn't even a bad joke.

He finally exhaled. "Joker can get us close and we can drop in the MAKO, but I'm not sure sending my marines down would do much more than get them killed. Most Alliance troops don't have a lot of battle experience."

Balak laughed. "Hardly anyone's military is 'veteran' any longer, Captain. But I agree. Matriarch Trellani is a capable warrior, as is, I believe, Commander Florez. The five of us can get in and out without being detected, and Trellani's biotics can move the Prothean capsule no matter how much it may weigh."

Saren flicked a mandible again. "Something doesn't add up, Ka'hairal. The humans only found out about this device six days ago. It's an EIGHT DAY trip from the Perseus Veil to Eden Prime – how are they even here!?"

Balak merely shrugged. "That's not what's going to really cook your brain, Saren. The Eden Prime relay is only reachable by relays guarded by the majority of the Alliance fleet … or the turian one, and if they came by way of the Alliance relays that would have taken fifteen days. So did the Hierarchy somehow miss the giant ship with thirty quarian battlecruisers in tow...or what?"

Ahern frowned. "That...he's right. What in the shit is going on?"

* * *

_CODEX: Recent History – from Citadel Discovery to the Yahg's Grim Buffet_

The state of the galaxy, as always, is in flux.

The asari discovered the Citadel over two-thousand years ago, after unifying their race in the aftermath of the War Against the Thirty. The civil war that unified their species also revealed to them that Protheans had taken a hand in their creation, and they searched out their makers for answers.

They found only more questions at the Citadel. When the elcor found the Citadel a century later, followed by the hanar and turians, the idea of a unifying body to lead the galaxy's races was borne.

Unfortunately, the galaxy had to deal with the salarian uprising first. Salarians had never embraced the peace other races had, and conducted sickening 'uplifts' on the krogan and yahg. Using these powerful alien races as slave soldiers, they declared war on the Council races.

Even with the batarians and drell joining the fight twenty years after it began, it looked as if the salarains would win – until the emergence of the rachni. A collectivist insect culture, they engaged the salarians and their slave races in combat, offering up an alliance to the Council.

In the end, asari matriarchs working with batarian stealth-masters managed to convince the yahg that their salarian masters were not gods, and that the yahg's religion had been used against them. Enraged, the yahg tore through the krogan and stormed into salarian space on stolen ships, assaulting Sur'kesh in a wave of violence.

By the time the Council had defeated the krogan holdouts, ninety-eight percent of the salarian race had been killed by the yahg – most of them eaten alive.


	4. Just what in the actual fuck?

**OF SERENDIPITY AND BALANCE**

* * *

**WARNING: THIS IS THE _WORST_ SORT OF CRACKFIC.**

_Blame Progman for the logo. Actually, blame him for this entire thing. If I'd never read Flock of Vandals, this wouldn't have happened.  
_

* * *

As with every single combat operation in his entire life, it took all of five minutes for the landing on Eden Prime to become totally and irrevocably fucked.

Sneaking past the quarians was nerve-wracking enough, but at first things seemed to be going very well indeed. While the approach seemed impossible at first glance, a pair of yahg trading vessels entered the system, and unlike the Normandy, had no stealth systems. Three quarian heavy cruisers stormed off to meet them before they could find out what was going on the planet.

Ahern just shook his head and Rachel wondered if the ship had popcorn, while Saren and Balak burst out laughing as they gazed at the plot. What kind of a suicidal fucking idiot attacked yahg civilian ships? This was going to hurt the quarians more than sticking your dick in a wood chipper.

Sure enough, when the yahg realized they the ships coming at them were not going to give them a cheery greeting, the gloves came off. The two ships sent a transmission out that Ahern was sure was a yahg NCO snapping a picture and captioning 'Check out these clueless motherfuckers' before the yahg vessels went from normal 'civilian' power to full power, reaching speeds that approached that of the Normandy.

Ahern just shook his head again.

Yahg not only grew up on a planet so violent and hostile to life in any form that even krogan needed life support equipment and heavy armor to survive, and not only had a culture that said if you were weak you went into the cookpot, but had spent three centuries being fucked over and out by the most evil and sadistic race known to Citadel records, the salarians. (They'd since decided eating each other was not as tasty as eating aliens. The few surviving known salarians in space shuddered every time the saw yahg cooking shows.)

As a result, 'paranoid' was a deadly insult to yahg – because the term did not sufficiently explain just how prepared they were for anything at all to go utterly fucking wrong. At last glance, the yahg had prepared for everything, including and up to being invaded by zombies.

The yahg did not _technically_ possess a military fleet, in much the same way that asari _technically _didn't wet themselves upon discovering humanity was into casual sex as much as they were and had both chocolate and good dance music, and that the krogan _technically_ were not carnivores.

After chowing down on the salarians, the yahg had kept most of the stolen ships they'd taken from their old masters and began reverse engineering their own ships, with an eye towards building a military fleet to 'cleanse the galaxy of those who would enslave others.'

It was around this time that the Batarian Harmony decided, you know what? Slavery should probably stop.

Given their violence, habit of referring to other aliens as 'future betrayers', and the fact they thought a great practical joke was to sprinkle various spices and condiments over aliens they met, the Council decided in the only unanimous decision ever to stop that shit before it got started and 'talk' to the yahg from a position of strength.

When the yahg woke up one morning to find the entire asari, turian, batarian, hanar, and rachni fleets in orbit around Parnack, along with sixty asteroids they'd strapped engines to, all in preparation to 'talk' to the yahg, the big bastards decided this was a sufficient show of strength to deign to listen. After the screaming stopped and things were discussed, the Council agreed to place highly valuable hostages in the hands of the yahg and allow them free access as a Council associated race, as well as valuable trade treaties, tariff reductions, and package of financial and technological assistance – as well as 'gifting' them the remaining nineteen salarian colony worlds and the six million salarians on them.

In return for the help and the snacks, the yahg agreed never to build a military force, but obtained the right to arm their ships. Of course, being yahg, your average bulk hauler was built like a super-dreadnought. Pirates had long ago learned that attacking the yahg was a one-way trip into a yahg oven and to come out as some cutesy confectionery they fed to their kids. Not in five hundred years had anyone taken a yahg ship in combat.

The quarians, obviously having forgotten this in their long isolation, lashed out at the yahg ships with a single spray of missiles, which bloomed ineffectually off the strong shielding of the ships. When this had no effect, the three heavy cruisers shot them with their main guns, this time managing to actual make the city-scale shielding on the yahg ships flicker. For a second.

The sides of the yahg ships slid open, revealing pairs of long rows of thick, honeycombed mass accelerators, and space erupted as fifty mid-size guns went off at once, followed by a spate of torpedoes.

Ahern thought the torps were kind of overkill, given that being hit by a hundred mass slugs at once turned all three quarian ships into expanding clouds of gas and shrapnel. The quarians still in orbit, alarmed, mostly broke said orbit, and the yahg transmitted insults and a suggestion the quarians should stop sexually pleasuring themselves and apply a list of seasonings so they would taste better.

And then they actually transmitted a list of seasonings and Rachel burst out laughing. Ahern face-palmed in disgust and slapped the wall communications panel.

"Joker, take us past that group heading into high polar orbit."

Getting to the surface had surprisingly gone well too. They'd landed just south of the colony proper, the MAKO touching down gently at the edge of a cliff. A good vantage point, and in the distance they could see the entire colony proper. With the MAKO's speed and guns, even the masses of soldiers they saw swarming below would be easily bypassed.

Four seconds later, some kind of high energy blast hit the tank, knocking the entire thing off the cliff. Tumbling almost sixty feet into a ravine, it hit the bottom with a titanic crash and split open, the armaglass canopy shattering, two of the heavy wheels flying right off. The VI gave a garbled sound like someone fucking up a Johnny Cash song before dying in a spurt of sparks, and the medical kit helpfully shattered, spraying them all with ice cold medigel.

It took Ahern a good thirty seconds to shake off his dazed shock and pick himself up. Thankfully, they'd all been strapped in, and the MAKO, like all Alliance equipment, was over-engineered as hell. A quick check of the five showed no one was seriously hurt, although they were all bruised and battered, not to mention covered in now useless medigel.

Balak appeared to be amused by the fall, while Trellani was wiping herself off. Saren snarled at the broken cockpit, the control panel now flashing red in a dozen places, and then turned away. "So, we go in on foot. Just lets us kill the stupid tark-shits up close, which suits me fine. Ahern, can the Normandy land to extract us?"

Ahern nodded. "Yes. In theory."

There were several seconds of silence, only broken by yet another wheel falling off the MAKO outside and crashing to the ground.

Balak trailed his tongue over blood-flecked teeth and grimaced. "That word. Theory. I do not think you should use it in context to us getting off this quarian-infested hellhole. I would prefer a word such as 'obviously' or even a phrase such as 'it's a routine maneuver'.

Florez put her helmet on. "The Normandy is a goddamned piece of shit with two centimeters of armor plating and engines they stitched on from a cruiser, using a stealth design that had never been tested in combat and with a coffee maker the salarians probably designed as vengeance from the grave. It's a miracle we didn't die on the way here."

Trellani sniffed, and sighed. "Saren, you never take me anyplace nice." She rolled her shoulders, and, seeing the back hatch of the MAKO was jammed shut, blew the entire thing off with a blast of biotic energy that sent the heavy metal doors flying twenty feet away. She stepped out gingerly, drawing her warp sword, and glanced around and up.

Saren only sighed. "I bought some chocolate on Ferris Fields. It's on the ship."

She chuckled. "Now I remember why I stick around."

The five of them exited the wreck, Ahern glancing to the top of the cliff they'd been blown off of, just to see if someone was stupid enough to come see their handiwork. Sure enough, a pair of humanoid figures in thick black environmental armor were peering over the edge, one of them holding a heavy missile launcher or blast cannon of some kind.

"Idiots, on the cliff to our right. The ones who blew up our ride, most likely."

Balak and Trellani waved almost negligently in the direction of the cliff. One quarian was snatched into the air and then dropped the full sixty feet, landing with a gruesome splatter and an explosion of flying pieces of cyberware and bones. The other one gave a horrific scream as warpfire exploded out of his faceplate, before sinking to his knees and tumbling down the cliff face as well.

Ahern and Florez traded a single look. She mouthed to him. "They're crazy".

He shrugged and pulled out his customized Sabre rifle before gesturing towards a wash in the cliff face. "Looks like we can get back up this way."

O-TROLOLOL-O

Getting to the colony was an exercise in sheer bloody war fighting, dodging, and cursing. Mostly cursing. The minute Ahern got his hands on whatever fucking asshole came up with quarian weapons he was going to demonstrate his frustration. Preferably with a hammer.

The human infantry on the planet was still fighting its ass off, having fallen back towards the southern end of the colony by the arcology tower. In this, they were aided by a small number of asari citizens, about a dozen batarians (here for God knew only what), a few hacked off turian vacationers who'd brought along most of an armory, and one _extremely_ pissed off yahg merchant who'd already torn a pile of quarians into blue shredded ruins and was stomping about with a Revenant machine gun in each hand, roaring out battle cries. The fact the yahg had been shot two dozen times seemed only to be an additional personal insult.

Ahern quietly thanked the Lord the Alliance had never sent him to Parnack.

Quarians had encircled the group, firing away with curious weapons like some kind of beam laser, but more powerful. Their geth servants – tall, organic looking robots with flash-light looking heads – dashed here and there, sniping at defenders. The north end of the colony – and the spaceport – were in enemy hands.

Standing atop the cliff and looking down with rangefinder binocs, Saren shook his head in disgust. "They're dug in around the damned dig site, must be two hundred of them, lead by a giant battle-suit of some kind. Another five or six hundred are scattered throughout the colony fighting the automated defenses, holdout soldiers, and … some lunatic with a flamethrower off in the distance."

Ahern grunted. "I'm less concerned about all of them than I am about the ominous giant black ship of death just sitting there. That thing is bigger than the fucking Destiny Ascension. It could probably glass the entire planet. Given our exit strategy has the Normandy landing well within firing range of that thing, maybe we should re-think our options."

Balak nodded coolly. "Yet it has not fired except once, Captain. And it is not moving now. Does that not tell you they are having some sort of problems reaching the target they are here for? In any event, our course is clear. A surgical strike straight to the dig site, extract the pod, and fall back, using this … defensive gathering near the southern arcology tower as cover."

Rachel grimaced, and Ahern shot her a look. He wasn't happy about Balak and Saren's tendency to write off civilians as losses. But he couldn't' see a way to save them either. And letting the fucking quarians get away with a live Prothean wasn't going to make them any more peaceful. "We'll need a bigger distraction than that to get past them. If we just charge in we'll be shot to pieces."

Saren nodded. "Balak, take the humans and strike the dig, oblique from the southeast. Head towards the lower platforms of the spaceport. Trellani and I will draw them off. Once you have the device, signal us. We'll come in using the biotic charge and help you clear off defenders and cut our way out."

Balak only inclined his head. "As you wish."

Ahern looked from one Spectre to another. "Look – I know you guys are supposed to be super-agent bad-asses. But motherfucking Superman couldn't get through that much enemy firepower? There's two hundred around the digsite and another five hundred all around the area!"

Saren gave him an amused glance. "I'm afraid you have the wrong human superhero in mind, Captain." He touched a control on his armor, and wrapped his arm around Trellani's slender waist as omnifields shaped into glider like wings erupted from his back. A cloaking field rendered them both invisible a second later.

His hard voice had an edge of amusement to it. "Think of me more like Batman." With a blurry barely seen leap, the two were gone, and Ahern merely stared up into the sky before Balak tapped him on the shoulder.

"He does this from time to time. We should move, those two are even noisier on the battlefield than in the bedroom."

O-TROLOLOL-O

Fighting their way through the quarian lines was hard. On the plus side, the stupid morons treated cover like it was carrying hanar religious pamphlets, and had the tactical organization of a pack of blind people moved forward via cattle prod. More than once some idiot charged them and got shot to pieces by his or her own companions.

On the minus side, the quarian weapon was some kind of rapid firing x-ray laser, energized with a particle beam. It cut right through shields and would boil off armor at an alarming rate.

The quarians also had some kind of excellent communications and could aim like a sniper elite, rarely if ever missing even when shooting one handed. Fifteen minutes into the assault, and Ahern was wincing in severe pain from a number of wounds. His heavy Onyx armor had been holed repeatedly, and the only reason they were still alive was their reflexes and good use of cover.

It wasn't all one-sided, of course. The bastards couldn't take a good hit, and their armor was even shittier than the crap pirates wore in some ways. It was designed, it seemed, mostly to block weapons like their own, not mass accelerators.

Balak's biotics were also making things easier, even if the batarian himself was obviously unhinged. Balak's only weapon was a mass-effect enhanced flamethrower, which used some kind of field to fling burning plasma slurry out to a hundred feet in bright, searing lines. He backed this up with warps and flares, biotic bombs that sent a dozen quarians flying through the air at a time. His own biotic barrier stopped their weapons cold, thus he was leading the assault, bloody singing of all things. The fact that his black-armor, with its leather over-coat and hockey mask-like helmet, made him look like like a complete raging psychopath didn't help.

They'd torn through two quarian picket lines and a small unit, and had a shoot-out with a slight larger unit of quarians, before finally reaching a series of warehouses and a tram line at the outskirts of the spaceport. Up ahead sounded like a damned war was going on, biotic explosions sending warp fire dozens of feet into the sky and the sounds of quarian screams. From the map and their observations, the dig-site was off to the left.

Just as they were about to head that way, however, trouble decided it needed to fuck with them some more. There was a series of heavy explosions and Saren's voice broke in on comms, almost panicked. "Balak, move in. Trelly's hurt and I'm pinned down by this fucking mech!"

Balak nodded to himself. "Humans, have you ever traveled using the asari kanquess?"

Ahern shook his head. "What is that?"

Balak sighed. "Then this will be … unpleasant."

Without further explanation, the batarian wrapped an arm around each of them, and then the world exploded into blue flames. Ahern's stomach flipped, then flopped, then told him to go fuck himself. The world lurched again, and then the three of them erupted in a storm of biotic energy, Florez tumbling to a heap to one side, Ahern staggering off behind a low wall.

He now knew what a glass of water felt like as it was being drunk, and he was glad he'd not eaten before landing. He shook his head to clear his blurry vision, even as Balak moved into action.

They were on a platform of the spaceport, and over fifty dead quarians lay scattered around, contorted in death. A few dozen more were probably down the long stairway he saw to the east that was splattered in blue blood.

Ahead, a giant suit of powered armor with heavy metallic feet, shielded limbs and a tiny command pod stomped around. It had been damaged – one arm was not working, and several armor plates were cracked and smoking – but it was still mobile, using some kind of minigun that hurled plasma darts.

Balak burned a section of charging quarians to death, flinging up a protective barrier to deflect their counter fire, but ducked behind a nearby overhang of the steel decking of the nearby spaceport wall as return fire overcame the blue-glowing defense.

Trellani was behind a nearby stack of crates, clutching her leg and holding up her own biotic barrier over Saren, whose armor was a wrecked, smoking ruin. Ahern sprayed the mech with grenades from his under-barrel missile launcher as he shouted. "What's the situation?"

Saren grimaced, wrenching around to lift his heavy pistol and fire at the mech several times, which staggered. "Surrender in the name of the Citadel!"

The pilot of the mech triggered its speakers. "Go fuck yourself, bosh'tet. Family Zorah does not retreat!" Oddly enough, the voice sounded both female and quite young.

The mech shook off Ahern's grenades and Saren's shot, stomping forward. It lifted and fired the mini-gun again, the plasma darts carved into a steel shipping container before blowing it apart, sending shrapnel scattering over the team.

Ahern glared at it, then at Saren. "You have a plan?"

Saren shook his head. "Trellani can't walk and I've been gutshot. Didn't plan to face a goddamned mech. You have something to immobilize it?"

Ahern sighed, and tapped Florez's shoulder. "Rachel, 2-1 on five, high explosive, doubleback loop."

She nodded, while Balak gave them a curious look. "You have a plan of your own?"

Ahern pulled a heavy black block from the back of his armor, slapping an OSD into it. "Yeah, fusion enema. Cover me." He rushed forward, firing with the Saber, aiming for joints. Rachel opened up with automatic fire at the battle-suit's head. Balak assisted by hammering the suit with warpfire.

As anyone would do when being battered, the pilot backed away, trying to position herself to stop Ahern's charge. That left the suit's flank exposed, and Balak wasted no time with that, using his biotics to pick up the heaviest crate he could and hurl it.

The pilot was good, and managed to duck out of the way, but that was all the time Ahern needed. He wasn't able to get to the back of the machine, but slapped his fusion bomb to the suit's leg as he rolled and dashed past. The suit stomped at him, missing him by inches, as he rolled away and then took off running to open distance.

Before it could give chase, the fusion explosive on its leg went up, and a blast of flames shook the area. The suit toppled to the ground, the leg missing, the heavy minigun skittering away as its ammo belt was shredded. Before the pilot could recover, Balak leapt up, coming down on the machine with a heavy flare blast followed by a wave of warpfire. Trellani threw a singularity at it as well and the courtyard rocked a second time from a biotic explosion.

Standing warily, Saren glanced around. A few more quarians died with the explosion, and the suit itself was down. He strode forward slowly, pausing to put a few shots from his Sunfire pistol into the missle rack on one shoulder, before planting his foot into the things chest and leveling his gun at the shattered cockpit.

Ahern walked up next to him, rifle ready, and then frowned. In the broken remains of the cockpit was a quarian teenager, her alien features twisted in fear and hate.

Saren merely placed the barrel of his gun at the female's chin. "Name, quarian."

The girl gave him a hateful look from her glowing eyes before answering. "Zorah. Tali'Zorah vas Haestrom."

Saren nodded. "And why exactly are you attacking a helpless colony world?"

Tali'Zorah spat in his face. "I'd die before betraying the holy Saviors."

Balak sighed. "I hate suicidal fanatics."


	5. Rolling in the derp

**OF SERENDIPITY AND BALANCE**

* * *

**WARNING: THIS IS THE _WORST_ SORT OF CRACKFIC.**

_Just think: we haven't even gotten to the Council yet.  
_

* * *

"Mistress, there appears to be an interruption to our assault. Our people are still trying to hack past the automated Prothean defenses to retrieve the ancient, but a small force of units has struck near the spaceport."

The interior of the vast black ship was a deranged nightmare architecture, dedicated to angles that made no sense, shapes too organic and yet too bizarre for the mind to fully embrace, and the oily pitch black darkness that seemed to breathe. Sitting on the strangely shaped throne with one leg thrown over the arm, the figure in the chair examined the edge of her warp sword calmly before speaking.

"Then go fucking kill them. Athame's Tits, how hard can this be? Look! People who aren't quarians or our boss? Shoot them." The asari frowned, the black marks on her jawline and cheeks standing out strongly against her blue skin, her reddish battle armor emphasizing rather than concealing her muscular frame and curvy figure, even at her great age.

The asari beside her gave an exasperated sigh and folded her arms. "Aithntar, I do not think that if Captain Kal'regar could defeat these foes on his own, he would be here informing you of the difficulty."

Aethyta glanced aside at her daughter, scowling. "Fine, fine. I'll just walk out there, into the middle of every fucking camera still working on this colony, and announce to the entire fucking universe that the Queen of Omega is kicking in the shit of humans. That should go down about as well as a turian BDSM convention."

Kal'regar gave a bow. "I have already taken the action of having the Techpriests hack said cameras, mistress."

Liara sighed, face-palming, and Aethyta turned back to the quarian. "Fine. Prep the fucking Colossus, if shit gets out of hand we'll send it out. And where the hell is Tali'Zorah, anyway? She was supposed to be securing the dig!"

Captain Kal'regar's voice took on a hint of fear. "She's been captured by the invaders, mistress." He held up his omni-tool, displaying a grainy image. Two humans flanked a batarian, a turian, and another asari – the turian roughly hauling out the frail form of Tali'Zorah from the wreckage of her custom built mechsuit.

There was a long moment of silence and then Aethyta shook her head. "Some days shit wouldn't go right if you paid it to." Standing up, the matriarch rolled her shoulders. "Liara, stay onboard and make sure Harby doesn't do anything stupid, like try to fry the entire colony. His damn mind is only half working after whatever the shit that fish-fucker did to him, so speak slowly, like to a child."

Liara nodded. "And where will you be?"

Aethyta gestured to the haptic image. "I've got a bird to go fuck up and Trelly's getting a spanking. In the meantime, Kal'regar, if that damned pod isn't aboard by the time I get back, we're going to see how well your people do at charging through the defenses giving you so many problems. They're just goddamned statues, I don't see the fucking issue."

Kal'regar's angular face paled, quills trembling, before he bowed. "Yes, mistress."

Sighing, Aethyta strode to the front of the room, touching the wall where it glowed. The black hull shimmered into smoke, letting in sunlight, and Aethyta stared out at the ruin of Eden Prime.

The once proud arcology towers to the south were burning wreckage, but the ones to the north still stood, surrounded by stubborn defenders trying to protect the innocents within. She'd given orders to merely corral them – no point getting her own people killed when Harbinger would reduce the entire area to a molten wreck once they took off.

She glanced down to the ground far, far below, and then with an impish smile, jumped out.

O-TROLOLOL-O

Saren had bound the quarian girl hand and foot, her skin-tight suit having been searched for weapons of any kind. She'd also been roughly gagged, and now sat glaring at them as they huddled together for a quick conference.

Saren's expression was hard to read, given his face was mostly spars, metallic plating and scars, but his eyes were alight with battle fire and his voice firm. "We have a captive and the Council can break her later for information. Right now, we need to secure the pod. Ahern, go with Balak and Florez and proceed as we originally planned. Trellani and I will dig in here and wait – we distracted quite a few of them, but we are both too shot up now to be of much use."

Trellani was using pieces of scrap metal to make a crude splint for her leg, and tossed her warp sword to Balak, who caught it. "Don't lose it, fang-face."

Balak bowed deeply to her. "A magnificent loan, dear lady. I will put it to fiery use."

Ahern could not think of a worse idea than a batarian Glorious biotic with a warp sword, except maybe giving a vorcha a flamethrower. Actually, it was about 50/50 on what would be worse and 100% stupid, but he kept his mouth shut. With any luck, the batarian would get himself gloriously killed – Ahern smiled to himself at the bad pun – and they could get this stupid Prothean asshole and get out.

Ahern glanced at the quarian girl. "What about her?"

Saren only gave a turian shrug. "I'll make sure doesn't get away."

Checking his armament, Ahern sighed. "I'd tell you to be careful, turian, but I've seen you fight. Try not to get shot to death, I'd hate to explain to the Council how I got one of their fancy-ass Spectres killed because he was too stupid to duck."

Saren flicked a mandible and gestured. "Begone, human. I can handle myself."

With a grunt, he headed down the path towards the dig-site, Balak and Florez trailing. The path was littered with human corpses – mostly infantry, but more than a few fleeing civilians shot in the back. Balak's voice was thick with distaste as he stepped past them.

"What kind of mewling coward shoots unarmed civilians in the back? Truly, fearsome warriors these quarians are."

Ahern said nothing, but Rachel gave a shrug. "They were probably in the way."

Balak's masked face revealed nothing, but his voice was almost tired sounding. "There is enough death in the galaxy already without spreading it about like a deranged jam on toast, and these people did not deserve such a fate."

Florez nodded, scanning the high walls above for enemies. "No, they didn't. But I'm not going to get angry over it either. Angry makes you stupid, stupid makes you dead. That much I've learned in my life at least."

Balak chewed over the words, as they rounded the last set of steps and emerged into the dig site proper. A huge crater had been dug down into the earth, spars of old Prothean buildings jutting up from the ground like decaying teeth.

Vast machines of bizarre shape and configuration encircled the dig, generating a glowing purple field that radiated a dark, almost blurry luminescence. A few automated Alliance turrets sat smoking in blackened heaps to the side, but what caught Ahern's attention were the three stone-looking statues that were moving around outside, fighting the quarians.

Each statue was about eight feet tall, carved in the shape of a humanoid figure with indistinct features. Heavy stone fists were glowing with a crackling red energy, like whips, that lashed out at the quarians firing at them ineffectually, tearing a group of quarians into neatly bisected halves as it passed them. A team of quarians in lighter armor was standing over a Prothean console, apparently trying to hack it.

Two Prothean beacons blazed an angry bright blue, lashing with energy. Around them lay geth, undamaged but simply immobile. Ahern took in the bizarre scene as he crouched behind a set of metallic crates, briefly wondering why no one thought to remove such obvious cover from the site.

Balak eyed the quarian attackers thoughtfully. "They are keeping those things, the statues, at bay, while their scientists or what not hack the defenses. Our course is clear. You take out the hackers, I will engage the quarian attackers from behind. Commander Florez will cover our backs."

Rachel nodded, swapping her heavy shotgun for a sniper rifle. "Damn shame we don't have Michael here."

Ahern snorted. "Bastard is too busy on the Citadel, trolling the shit out of aliens. Alright, we'll rush on three. Ready?" Florez and Balak nodded, and on the count, they dashed out.

Rachel struck first, placing a sniper shot in the back of the head of a quarian attacker with a heavy recoilless rifle that was doing some damage to the statues, blowing his head off in a gory display. The quarians, naturally, turned to face the threat, and caught the blast of a biotic flare from Balak as they did so, flinging them backwards.

The statues took advantage of this, lashing their energy whips at the prone figures, killing a dozen of them in a second. Ahern, on the other hand, raced forward, spraying burst fire from his Saber at the quarian hackers.

Two went down in sprays of blood, and a third took several hits but staggered back alive. The last two pulled out light pistols, firing with deadly accuracy, drilling Ahern in the shoulder and knee and sending him into a tumble. He cursed and rolled out of the way, more shots barely missing him. Even while rolling he fired, his shots catching another hacker in the face, shattering his delicate features in a wash of blue tinted blood.

Balak engaged in a biotic charge, coming out with Trellani's warp sword alight with biotic fire, slashing down on a heavily armored quarian with an omni-shield. The curved blade shattered the glowing shield, sliced off the quarian's entire arm, and bisected his leg. Balak withdrew it and flung himself in a wide arc, catching two more with the weapon, the blade going through them as if they were merely air, sending them both to the ground dead.

Rachel calmly fired at the last unharmed quarian hacker, killing him, and then put rounds into the one thrashing about on the ground. Ahern grimaced, using the last of his omnigel on his two wounds, before staggering to the console.

The Prothean display was not haptics – it looked like a pool of water, with glowing runes superimposed atop it, none of which made any sense to him. As he was about to head into battle to help Balak, though, he passed near one of the glowing Beacons.

A force seized his body, lifting him into the air, and a flash of white overtook him.

O-TROLOLOL-O

Saren shot another charging quarian with his Sunfire pistol, reducing the fool to glowing biological slurry and a cascade of charred body parts. Next to him, Trellani had drawn her pistol, and was covering his back.

She stiffened, as a bolt of blazing blue energy dropped from the top of the black ship in the distance, frowning. Saren glanced at her. "What is it?"

Trellani swallowed. "Biotics. Strong, Saren. Stronger than me, or Balak. Whoever it is feels familiar, but I'm not sure..."

Saren's eyes narrowed. Anyone Trellani would have known of that strength was definitely bad news. Making a split second choice, he triggered the decoy unit in his belt, setting it on the ground, then picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder. "We're falling back." He spared a thought to his captive, but in the end, survival was more important than intelligence. He kicked her in the head as he passed to make sure she was knocked out, then ran.

He moved quickly, trying not to aggravate her injuries or his own, taking care to stick to metaled surfaces and not roads. Trellani bit her lip after a few minutes, shaking her head. "It's no good – whoever it is, they are following us. They can probably feel my biotic field."

Saren nodded, sprinting with her into the cover of a heavy cargo dock next to a warehouse. Thick sheets of armaplast and metal made it a good place for a last stand, and he braced himself, pistol held steady, as Trellani sat with her back to the wall, whispering as she focused her biotic energies.

The sound of metallic boots on the metal decking click-clacked closer, and Saren waited until mid-step to dash out of cover, firing off three shots from his Sunfire at the barely glimpsed figure.

All three bounced ineffectually off a glowing biotic barrier, one ricocheting to smash a nearby tree into burning splinters. Saren came up from his roll, aiming, then his jaw dropped in disbelief.

Standing there in battle armor and holding a two-handed warp sword was Queen Matriarch Aethyta T'Soni, pirate lord of Omega, the deadliest biotic and asari commando in the galaxy. She wore an amused smirk on her face as she saw him.

"Hey, kiddo. Sorry it's you who drew the short straw. Guessing that's Trelly behind the wall, there."

Saren gripped his pistol tightly, although he knew it was pointless. He'd seen, with his own eyes, Aethyta laugh at direct fire from a 5mm mass accelerator, and shrug off point blank hits from a missile launcher. Nothing he had in his possession would even dent her biotic barrier, and Trellani, while strong, was no match for Aethyta.

He tried to trigger his omni-tool, but blaring static erupted from it, and Aethyta grinned wider. "Oh, come on, Saren. I've got quarians working for me, don't you think I'd have enough sense to have them hack your shit before I show my blue ass in public?"

Saren growled, anger and despair washing over him. He felt Trellani's calm acceptance, and steeled himself. "Why are you doing this, Aethyta?"

The matriarch's eyes, he realized a second later, were sad, as she lifted a hand towards him. But the words that came out of her mouth made no sense.

"In a war between evil gods and unhappy but ultimately selfless demons...which side do you take? As the humans say, I'd rather rule in Hell than be a mindless drooling slave in Heaven."

Warpfire exploded, and Saren moved, in what he feared would be the last battle he ever faced.

O-TROLOLOL-O

_Welcome, child of the future._

Ahern blinked, sitting up. Which was odd, because he did not remember sitting down. He was sitting on a plane of infinite whiteness, stretching in all directions, under a vault of darkness pierced by a single, brightly glowing star that pulsed with a hot white light.

He wasn't wearing any clothes, either.

He stood, noticing his wounds were gone, and that everything felt blurred, slowed. Like he was dreaming. Maybe that was it.

_This is a dream, child, but not one of your mind's making. Listen well to my words, and behold the fate of those too arrogant to take heed._

The skies beyond became lit with images – warfare. A battle of some kind, between endless ships of hundred of different styles, and huge, black writhing things, similar but somehow worse than the black ship he'd seen earlier.

He watched as the black things viciously destroyed the smaller ships, before a blast of red light bloomed, and the black things fled.

The images faded, replaced by new ones – the black ship he saw, with many like it, fighting a horde of the black things, and losing. The red light flared again, and this time it affected both sides, many of the shapes exploding into red fire, the black ships also detonating.

These images also faded, and a single image replaced it. A still, black lake, waters reflecting a single moon, and a single alien of some kind with three legs, clutching a primitive spear, approaching it. The waters parted, and the black thing he'd seen in the earlier images rose from the waters, terrible and huge, something like glowing yellow eyes clustered around it's middle.

The alien knelt, and the eyes flared.

Ahern shrugged as the last image faded. "The fuck was that?"

_That was the fate of the galaxy, child. Long ago, terrible beings so far above you as to be called gods ruled this galaxy. They were cruel, capricious, evil things – and they twisted the minds of all those who found them sleeping. _

_Eventually, they would have enslaved everything for all time, but one race created a group of artificial intelligences. These AI's managed to come up with a solution to their slavery, and created mockeries of the gods, but at a terrible cost. _

_An entire race had to be sacrificed to great such a being, and no single such creation could fight the gods alone. The enslaved created a weapon to fight the gods with, and drove them back, until such time as the AI's and their creations were ready to fight. _

_The battle ruined much of the galaxy, killed trillions … but it set organic life free. The gods were driven into the dark places of the galaxy, and they were hunted. But it is difficult to kill a god. _

Ahern snorted. "Anything can be killed with enough bullets."

_The gods are not entirely physical creatures. They reside in an energy state, as you would understand it. Outside of your ability to see. Thus, the AI's and their creations stood guard over organics, while all sought a final answer to the threat._

_In time, the gods recovered, and rather than fight openly, twisted the minds of those aliens they could reach. The galaxy erupted in war again, and this time the AI's found themselves under attack by the very life they were sworn to defend. Their minds, unable to break or alter their core programming, went mad._

_The battles that raged destroyed the last races who knew what was occurring, and since then it has been a war of attrition. When the stars come right, the old gods awaken, sending out their siren call to seduce and suborn. The AI's awaken as well, and strike, cleansing the galaxy of any race that can act on such a call before said races can reach and revive the gods._

_The gods awaken, and they have corrupted one who is dangerous indeed. And the AI's still sleep, a treacherous act committed by our own hands, done in ignorance and misunderstanding._

Ahern folded his arms. "Why are you showing me this shit? And who - or what - in fuck _are_ you?"

_My name is best described as Sorrow. I am a virtual intelligence of the Sithlai, those you call Protheans. We died trying to save the galaxy, and instead we have doomed it, I fear. You must make this right."_

Ahern snorted. "Sorry, but the last thing I remember was a bunch of quarians surrounding a stasis pod with one of the Protheans inside it. And a black ship like you just showed me parked not far away.

_Then there is less time than you thought. The pod contains the mightiest weapon the Prothean Empire had – a scientist, leader and general known as the Avatar of Vengeance, and a curious AI device from an alien culture prior to ours, filled with useful information._

_We set them in stasis to remember, to guide future alien races towards the right actions – but in the last days, our people were corrupted by both the gods and the Reapers._

Ahern didn't like the sound of that. "Reapers?"

_The AI constructs that are mockeries of the gods. With the race torn between two masters, we did what we could. In our foolishness, we assumed the Reapers, which would obliterate all space-faring life in the galaxy, were the true threat. We disabled their method of awakening, and revealed the location their scion hid to the gods._

_The gods betrayed us, twisting our people into sick mockeries, and those of us who survived fled to the last Reaper remaining for aid. That one acted in great anger, also corrupting our people, and with no where left to turn, the last of us hid in places like this – outlying colonies, far from the sight of god or Reaper. _

_We have waited a very long time to be awakened, but the strange beings you call quarians stink of the Reaper's influence, and our defenses will not allow them to corrupt the last of the Prothean people. I ask you – awaken him, protect him, and listen to him._

Ahern glanced around. "I'm naked and dreaming. If I wake up, how do I do that?"

_The sigils I show you will do so. Touch each one briefly. _Three glowing shapes erupted into the sky, and Ahern nodded – they were simple enough to remember.

_There is little time. The last of my energy went to utilizing the strange powers Vigil shared with us to defend the stasis module, but my power fades. Act, child of the future. Do not make the mistakes we did._

_Wake up, Ahern._

With a groan, Ahern sat up, Florez by his side supporting his back. "Tradius? What the hell just happened, that … thing picked you up and glowed, then it exploded!"

Ahern glanced back at the Beacon, now a smoking wreck half its previous height, and shook his head. "I had a .. dream or some shit." He stood, shakily. "What's going on?"

As he spoke, the last of the animated statues crushed the final quarian attackers under its energy whip. The statue slowly turned to face Ahern, Balak and Florez, and its blob of a head made a shifting, grinding noise.

"REMEMBER. OUR. WORDS. AHERN."

With a flicker of red light, the statue went completely still, then toppled over. Balak eyed it curiously before turning back to face Ahern and Florez.

"...so. I am assuming there is something you need to tell me?"

* * *

_CODEX: Asari_

The asari developed and rose to power upon Thessia, an ocean world choked with eezo, that lead them to develop powerful natural biotic abilities. Once lead by a sub-race of their species known as the Thirty, social pressures and the so-called 'War of Queens' between the asari leaders and the mutants known as ardat-yakshi stressed asari society to the breaking point.

Three centuries before they discovered spaceflight, civil war rocked Thessia, and by its end, the Thirty had been destroyed. Ugly secrets held away from the common population eventually came out - the fact that their goddess, Athame, had no indeed intended the Thirty to rule Thessia, but had been murdered by the Thirty to retain power.

Horrified by this, and subtle hints that Athame herself was no goddess but merely a Prothean, the asari spent centuries in deep soul searching. They came up with a communal outlook on life, one buttressed by the elimination of negative emotion wherever possible. Music, celebration, creativity and above all else mutual satisfaction were the hallmarks of asari society rather than social posturing and empty sexuality.

Not that the asari stopped having sex, but they did tone down the orgies a bit.

Eventually, they even managed to control their ardat-yakshi, with medications, biotic suppression devices, and surgery, allowing them to live mostly normal lives just like everyone else.

As the one of the most powerful races in the galaxy, the asari tend towards diplomacy and peace as their first and predominant option. Asari mingle freely with every race, having a tendency to take on alien lovers in the belief that spice makes life fun and that alien influence strengthens their offspring. (Jealous types simply call the asari whores, but asari are very single-target when it comes to their relationships, and most do not break them off until their partner is dead.)

Asari adore humanity, who they see as little cousins, often doing what they can to encourage the growth and maturation of humans. The fact that younger asari find human culture, foods, and attitudes towards fun invigorating also helps explain why humans are so popular with asari.

Asari and batarians get along very well, the batarian male having grown depressed over the intellectual lack of the batarian female. Having strong females must of course lead to strong males, and asari-batarian offspring tend to support the Batarian Harmony more than their own people.

Asari think krogan throw good parties but are too rough in bed, have a tendency to blush and flirt with hanar (who do not like the sidelong glances they get from asari maidens at all), and like seducing uptight drell monks for a kick. They don't get along very well with the yahg (who does) and think the volus and vorcha are both ugly and disgusting.

Asari like the rachni, but also find rachni fixation on practical jokes a bit wearing. They are only truly hostile to the few nomadic salarians left in the galaxy, calling them hateful butchers.

Salarians, being salarians, seem to see this as a complement, which only infuriates the asari more.


	6. Intermission : The Editing Gang Attacks!

OF SERENDIPITY AND BALANCE : THE EDITING GANG INTERMISSION

We interrupt this purpoted story (which is actually what happens if you drink hot Jack Daniels and eat cheese pizza after one AM while playing Nomad Soul for four hours) to bring you the hard work of the Editing Gang.

Set in the canon Premiseverse (LOLWUT...I don't think that word means what you think it does.) (SHUT UP I AM TYPING) , the below snippets are a fascinating look at what could have been, if the entire Editing Gang and LP drank enough ryncol to kill a thresher maw.

Remember: This is all Progman's fault.

* * *

Shepard watched in amusement as Liara and Tel beat the everliving fuck out of the Broker with their bare hands, screaming and shrieking. "They look a little stressed, chicken."

Garrus shrugged. "Maybe they need some … calibrations." His voice descended into some kind of parody of seductive sleeze.

She facepalmed. "That was terrible."

The turian gave an apologetic shrug. "Look, sheep. I just speak the lines, blame the writer."

She nodded. "But the priiizee…..

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

It had been a productive day so far. Shepard had just returned from Korlus, after testing out her new warp sword on Okeer's face. She went up to her quarters to take a nap and returned to the CIC a few hours later.

"Mordin would like to see you, Sara."

Shepard glanced at Chambers and nodded. "Got it, I'll go see him now."

Shepard entered the research lab where Mordin was working on all manner of new ways to say "This hurts you" to that creepy harbinger collector as well as any other slaver or merc monumentally stupid enough to get in her way.

"Shepard, finished new grenade you asked for. Should cause any known form of organic life to flee in terror, disgust."

Shepard looked at the "grenade". It was a coffee container with a bursting charge in the middle and an activation button on the top.

"Working on WMD version for the Normandy. This will suffice for way to show assholes in the galaxy that they shouldn't mess with you." Mordin looked excited to talk about the prototype "Coffee Cannon" he had planned.

Sara grinned. "Nice work Mordin. I've always thought that crappy SA coffee was too disgusting to do anything with besides throw out the airlock, but with the Reapers coming, these are desperate times."

"Must be careful though. Large purchases of SA issue coffee makers by Cerberus possibly suspicious. Not used to such high demand for products. Might raise some eyebrows."

Shepard laughed. "To be honest I'm surprised that shit isn't restricted to Spectres only. I thought biochemical warfare was frowned upon."

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

Shepard sat down across from Grunt.

"I hear you had some … questions."

The krogan nodded, blue eyes fixed on hers. "Yeah. About...urges. Feelings." He made a vague gesture with his hands. "Zaeed said I should ask you about the birds and the bees, whatever that is, since you're my mom."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Vigil, remind me to shoot Zaeed in the head ASAP."

The silvery sphere materialized. "Oh, no, primitive. I'm deriving far too much satisfaction from his input. The man is very nearly Inusannon in his level of trolling."

She looked up, and grimaced. "This...explains so much." She turned back to Grunt. "Alright. Did your tank imprints tell you anything about sex?"

Grunt's face took on a puzzled expression. "...yes. Mostly involved asari in leather outfits, whips, and lots of feathers and butter."

Shepard's jaw hung open, and then she shook her head. "Oh, the shit I did not ever want to fucking visualize."

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

Horizon was a complete and utter mess. There were collectors all over the place, colonists locked in stasis fields all over the place, and every so often one of the collectors would start glowing and talking in what was unmistakably a reaper voice.

"This hurts you…."

Shepard rolled her eyes for the tenth time and drew her warp sword. She stepped out from cover, then flashed across the space in a kanques, reappearing right in front of the annoying collector. The blade came down, and the collector was cut in half from shoulder to opposite hip.

She then drew her Sunfire and put a fiery comet between the thing's eyes for good measure.

"This hurts you more, bitch." she remarked to the disintegrating body.

"Leave the dead where they fall."

"Garrus." Shepard said flatly.

A thunderous boom rent the air as Garrus relieved the latest talking collector of its head with an explosive round from his customized Widow rifle.

"I love this rifle!"

"We are the harbinger of-"

Shepard helmet palmed. "Grunt"

There was a deafening crack as a cone of liquid metal from Grunt's custom shotgun punched through a cargo container and removed another talking collector head, then continued on to rip through another collector that was in its way.

It was going to be a long day.

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

Delacor had his rifle trained on Shepard, though he didn't know it. "Hah! I've got you now, Butcher. You are under arrest."

There was a loud roar as a thresher maw erupted from the ground in front of Delecor and ate his rifle, then submerged again.

Shepard was laughing her ass off. "You know, if you have the worst luck in the galaxy you probably shouldn't be hunting for me on Tuchanka.

"How do you know about my bad luck?", Delacor asked.

In the distance, a meteor strike obliterated his shuttle.

Shepard smiled. "It's obvious. Say hello to Kalros for me."

"What the hell is Kal-"

He was interrupted a sudden tremor, as if something enormous was moving beneath the ground.

-Meanwhile, in orbit-

"VASIR!"

Delacor's panicked scream caused everyone in his ship's CIC to drop what they were doing and look up. Vasir herself was puzzled. Delacor had gone down to the surface of Tuchanka for routine surveillance, what could go wrong?

"VASIR GET YOUR BLUE ASS DOWN HERE WITH THE SPARE SHUTTLE!"

Ok, apparently something had gone wrong. Then the crew a sound in the background of the transmission that made them all go pale. The high-pitched roar of a thresher maw, far louder than it should have been.

Vasir shook her head and facepalmed.

\- Five minutes later-

"What the fuck is that?"

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

"What do you mean, Ahern's gone rogue?"

"It's too late to stop him. He's turned the Destiny Ascension into a mecha and is challenging Harbinger to a fist fight."

"Autobots!" The roar sounded out from the old captain on the bridge. "Transform and roll out!"

Harbinger was more than a little concerned. The foe he now faced was particularly large, in fact it somewhat dwarfed his own size. And as the large, mechanical fist approached his form, he realized he couldn't dodge in time.

If Harbinger had a face, it would express some shock. There had been civilizations in the past who could change the shape of their vehicles, but very little had the transformation end with a large mechanical versions of their species. This battle, he realized that this would be a battle unlike any he had experienced before.

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

"...oh my god. Is that a Tupari machine?"

Zaeed growled. "Don't guddamned touch it. Things are lethal.."

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

The Broker growled at the forms surrounding him in the dim lighting of his office - Shepard, Garrus, Liara, Telayna, and even Aethyta - and then sighed.. "NONE of you stupid bastards is dead?"

Shepard nodded. "Plot armor, bitch."

Jenkins nodded. "Yep. And retcons!"

The Broker sighed. "What a hack of a writer."

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

Tetrimus laughed, a hollow, vile sound. "You think you can take me, Shepard?"

She smirked. "I know I can take you."

He moved into a stylized position, and then bowed his head. "Then I challenge you … to a dance-fight."

The wind whistled past the figures atop the tower for several seconds, until Garrus face-palmed. "We're doomed."

"HOWLING DISCO FUNK INFERNO FLASH STEP!"

-CRITICAL MISSION FAILURE-

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

The enormous collector cruiser was in Joker's sights, and he smiled as he fired the Normandy's most recently installed weapon. In the belly of the ship a pair of bay doors opened, revealing a twin-barreled large cannon. After a second of charging, a stream of hypervelocity brown liquid was fired at the collector cruiser.

Shepard smiled. "We finally scaled up those piece of shit SA issue coffee makers to capital weapon size. Let's see how the collectors like tasting that sludge."

The collector cruiser was now chaotically spinning like a wet dog, trying to dislodge the coating of foul coffee. After a moment escape pods launched, the collector crew unable to stand it any longer.

_(It has been decided I can't actually use this in the main book as it is too cruel to inflict even on Reapers_.)

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

Manswell began to cackle, rising smoothly from his lift chair. "I have waited a long time for this moment, my little green friend. At last, the Thirty and the SIX are no more."

Dalatrass Muvai Solus gathered herself from the floor. "At an end your rule is. Not short enough it was."

As she prepared to attack, Benezia appeared between them. "NO! Only I get to channel Star Wars lines!"

The two leaders of races looked at her and spoke in unision. "You're dead."

Benezia began to laugh, as she drew two warp swords, spinning them around in trails of warp fire. "I was just mostly dead. Try finding _that_ option on government paperwork!"

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

"INCOMING!"

Shepard ducked under the heavy fire of the Reaper, the blast of red energy missing her by a dozen feet. Slamming into cover, she commed the Normandy. "Joker, need a Thanix Strike."

"On it , Commander." The ship dived hard, firing blasts of silvery energy, but the Reaper - being hax nimble for its size, the cheating bitch - sidestepped and fired back. The Normandy was hammered, shields flaring, but pulled away.

Shepard cursed. "Dammit!"

A cold, icy voice came on the commlink. "...they...my … my toothbrush. THAT REAPER DESTROYED MY TOOTHBRUSH!" Traynor's scream of rage burst into Shepard's ears a second before the enraged comm ensign came flying out of a small hull breach on the starboard side.

"FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH!" Traynor, glowing white hot with fury, slammed her dainty fist into the Reaper as she came down atop it, and a blinding flash erupted along with a thunderous blast that sent Shepard and most of the Hammer soldiers flying back.

As she got to her feet, she saw the once towering Reaper had been broken cleanly in half. Traynor stood atop of it, her uniform damaged - arms ripped off - holding aloft her fist.

Vega's eyes were wide. "Holy shit! She went full Fist of the North Star!"

A moment later, Traynor was stomped on by the leg of Harbinger. His voice was sneering. "Stupid organics should never go full Fist of the North Star."

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

As Shepard stepped in the super-biotic battle armor, covered in Silaris armor with a pair of biotic ninja-warp-chucks in each hand and a wave motion gun mounted on her shoulder to do battle with Harbinger, Jack stared for a long moment before tapping her omni-tool.

"Paging Dr. Hax."

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

As battle rages on Illum between Sara, Garrus, and Tetrimus . . . as most of Nos Astra is literally blasted to pieces. Justicars flee for their lives and the police are backing off after Archangel backhanded one of their cars out of the sky.

Shadow Broker and TIM: WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS OUTSIDE!

Kai Leng: ...amateurs. *eats a bowl of cereal*

Pel: ...huh. Who knew you could use a taxi like that?

Miranda: *facepalm* Oh, God no.

Jack and Grunt: *high five* GO MOM GO!

Mordin: Fascinating. Applied use of high energy biotics...maybe could participate using jetpack? No, no no. Cross winds too high. Result in screaming death. Still….parachutes...possibilities. Ah, Kasumi. Exciting new idea for you. Sneaky. Also fun.

Regilus Vakarian: THAT IS MY FUCKING SON! KICK! HIS! SPURS!

Maxwell Manswell: ... scheiße.

Richard Williams: What the shit is this? It's like God decided Sara would get a spinoff show from the story of my life.

STG Master: See how it feels TIM? SEE HOW IT FEELS TO WATCH YOUR CAREFULLY LAID PLANS BURNING AROUND YOU!

The SIX: This is a heap of intergalactic bullshit. Have someone look at how we can get some of these 'enhancements' in our shieldbreakers.

Thirty: *As one* I want her on the phone. Get her on the phone now. Get her on the phone RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!

Matriarch Suliasa: *Lights cigarette and sips brandy while looking smug*

Council of Woe: Dis is going to be good! *starts making dextro popcorn*

Reapers: What a hack writer. He needs a better editor.

Editing Gang: Fuck you! Most of his typos are from him editing the docs AFTER we finish our job.

The Darkness: Y**oU** haV_eN't_ seEn **aNyt**Hi_nG y_eT... zoM_biE s_Qu**iD.**

Aria: I knew I should've kept that body for myself.

P. (_definitively not Nezzy's old boyfriend_): All the chaos that's going to come out of this is making me so, damn, horny!

Delacor: Ah god, no. One time I get to vacation, on good parts of Ilium of all places.. -_comm unit starts ringing_\- You have a call from High Command sir, they want you to interject and try to stop this mess.

Tela Vasir: I think I need to take a vacation to Andromeda. I'll be back in a few centuries. *_watches as Shepard rage-punches down an entire skyscraper_* ….make that permanent retirement.

Vigil: Jamming the broadcast? While I was busy, er I forgot. Managing the fleet, army of droids, and all. In unrelated news, my new friend and highest rated reporter or all time, Emily Wong, would like an interview. No I have no idea why only her network got through the jamming.

EDI: ... soooo ... Sara ... can I maybe make a video of you and Liara ... when you know ... Ow Stop That! I'm Sorry Sara! Stop hitting my storage units! What are you doing with that OSD full of Neo-Catholic sermons! NO, NO, PLEASE I'LL BE GOOD, NOOOOOO!

EVA: ...and this is why I don't work for the Alliance.

A bystander who still lives (_the antithesis of Delacor himself_): STOP, he's already dead.

Crowds of asari (team Shepard): SHEPARD WE LOOVE YOU! SQUEE!

Liara T'Soni: *_rage glare, lifted fist flaming with biotics_*

Aethyta: You have much to learn my young acolyte.

Crowds of asari (team Garrus): GARRUS WE LOOVE YOU! SQUEE!

Telanya: Just you try bitches! *_angles waist to make it look narrower and cocks rifle_*

Aethyta: See here Liara, that's a bit more like it. Telanya, next time instead of warning them off just smack down a few of the most offensive attempted bondmate stealers.

Crowds of turian males: HOLY SPIRITS DAT WAIST! WE LOVE YOU SISTERS OF VENGEANCE!

Liara and Telanya: *_silence, followed by solemn nods_* That is acceptable.

Shepard and Garrus: …. WUT?!

_Harbinger: Oooh. I know that hurt you._

Shepard: Alright, I'll give you that one. But you're still a big, stupid cuttlefish.

Extranet trolls: NOOO my shipping circle! We'll have to go back to version 2.46 halfway through OSABC I and work up from there.

**X-DEYSEEMETROLLING-X**

Shepard Defense Industries, with the collaboration Muvai Solus of Armax Arsenal, and Thanix Palavanus, announces their new line of weapons.

The council moves to ban the entire line of weapons from any civilian and normal military use after 30 seconds of debate time.

After being asked if they inspected the weapons, they answered, "_**NO**_".

The line of weapons includes: shoulder mounted automatic multipurpose missile launchers suitable for anti-cruiser work, hard radiation throwers, eezo powered multi-directional gravity projectors, swords that spread black nano nerve gas, pistols that fire a stream of molten, soon to explode astatine, mass effect field contained fusion explosions, miniguns loaded with warp knives, and worst of all blasters firing standard issue Alliance coffee in super condensed packets.

When asked for a comment, Thanix Palavanus merely put on a pair of sunshades and said "Deal with it."


	7. Editing Gang: Fornax Edition

**OF SERENDIPITY AND BALANCE : THE EDITING GANG STRIKES AGAIN**

So, someone was fool enough to ask for 'sexytimes' - haha, you'll never do something that dumb again, will you? Behold trolling at it's best.

This is mostly the work of the Editing Gang. Once again, it is set in the canon Premiseverse. (Seriously? Dude, buy a dictionary. Premiseverse isn't a canon.) (BULLSHIT! OTHER PEOPLE WRITE FANFIC SET IT!) (Just HOW many goddamned Vicodin is he on now, anyways?) (...don't ask. The kitten war on the editing page is bad enough.)

Remember:_ This is all Progman's fault._

* * *

Shepard glanced over the intelligence files, and then back up at Miranda. "How solid is this intelligence?"

Miranda gave her an arch glance and spoke in an almost icy tone. "I spent _hours_ putting this together, Sara. I would not mislead you on something like this." Her voice softened. "I know how important this is for you."

Sara nodded, taking a shaky breath. "...okay. Have Joker set the course." She broke into a big grin. "And ...thank you. I know finding this couldn't have been easy."

Mordin, who'd been talking with Shepard before being interrupted, glanced at the infopads on the table. "...Shepard, understand you are experiencing stress. But cannot overstate inadvisability of the idea."

Shepard snorted. "The first annual Asari BDSM Endurance trials open to humans? Shiit. I'm all over that. Hell, Kelly will want to come too. Joker! Flank speed, move!"

Mordin watched as Shepard left the room, and gave Miranda an almost hateful look. "I know that this 'event' was actually organized by Cerberus. You people will do _anything_ to have her serve you."

Miranda merely smirked. "Don't hate the _player_, Doctor. Hate the game. And that would be checkmate."

**-TSMT-TH-**

Shepard went up to her quarters to check the galaxy's news. The first thing she saw was reports from Earth, specifically that the Commissariat were being criticized for using excessive force on protesting civilians.

The report included a video of exactly what happened, which Shepard decided to view to see what could possibly be considered excessive force when everyone was used to the idea of commissars practicing trial by fire and that Commissars exercising 'restraint' was a clever gag about arresting people by the arcology.

The video showed a group of people waving signs around, and suddenly looking terrified as a group of commissars approached. One of them had what looked like a large backpack with a spray hose attached to it.

What Shepard saw next disgusted even her, the commissars were spraying down the civilians with cold SA coffee...and then forcing them to drink it until they passed out.

She grimaced and cut off the feed. "What horror have I fucking unleashed on the poor, poor universe?"

Grunt wandered in, holding a large mug of SA coffee, sipping loudly. "We're running out of my favorite stuff, stop shooting people with it."

Shepard looked at him for a long moment before pinching the bridge of her nose. "My own child."

**-TSMT-TH-**

Sara didn't know where to turn. Liara had told her it was natural, Aethyta had actually sent Grunt horrible, horrible advice she would not repeat anywhere, mostly involving 'creative' use of biotics. Mordin had offered 'medical advice' that broke down into hysterical laughter. Vigil and Joker had combined forces to produce the worst goddamned puns she'd ever heard.

Garrus had handed her an empty heat sink and flicked his mandibles. She'd punched him for that. Liara had bought her a book about krogan mating rituals. She was currently refusing to talk to Liara at all.

She would have talked to Jack about it, but the ex-convict heard the first eight words, burst out laughing, and shouted "NOPE!" in her face before walking away.

It was Grunt's first date.

She was passing in their living room when the doorbell rang. She opened the door to see Kelly Chambers in one of her more … exposing outfits. Actually, outfit was a strong word - even asari would hesitate before wearing what Kelly had on, and Shepard morbidly found herself wondering exactly how wearing clothing could make her look MORE naked.

"Hello Sara, is Grunt ready?" Kelly asked in a tone she couldn't imagine being any sleazier.

Before Shepard could react - preferably by closing the door, hiding in the basement and drinking a kiloliter of ryncol - she heard the heavy footsteps of Grunt descending the stairs. She turned around in dread as the turned around to see Grunt in…..a _thong_. And for some reason Shepard's brain refused to handle, carrying a crowbar in one hand and a large bag of ice in the other.

"Oh, there you are, lover" Kelly said absolutely dripping with excitement.

Shepard was still struggling to frame the picture of Grunt in a … _thong_. A part of her brain started giggling._ Haha, fuck it, we're out._ A tiny alarm in her HUD showed a minor blood vessel had burst.

It was at that moment Aethyta walked into the room. "Oh good. Love to see young people going at it without any hesitation. I see you're going with the beach theme I recommended." Aethyta looked over to Kelly. "Remember what I told you, take him in the water, easier for the first time. If he goes in too deep, you might need the crowbar to slow him down. Just remember - cracked pelvis is easy to fix. And remember to use the ice after the first hour for the bruising."

With a flash of dreamlike intuition, Sara just dropped to the floor in the fetal position and started muttering "this isn't real". She imagined better times, like when the Reapers invaded Earth or the time she died, or that other time, that was a blast too.

Now she knew what Harbinger meant by saying her torment would never end.

**-TSMT-TH-**

It had been ten years since the end of the Reaper War and the galaxy was slowly beginning to recover. Shepard was spending time with Liara on Intai'sei, who had just called Sara and told her she had a gift to give her.

Shepard entered the room and found Liara holding a kitten. Where she had gotten a kitten on Intai'sei was anyone's guess, but then again she was the bondmate of the most powerful being in the galaxy.

Shepard was surprised, "Liara, you got me a kitten?"

"Yes! And he is trained, look!"

Liara produced a paper cutout of a batarian and dropped it next to the kitten, which immediately extended its claws and began shredding the paper batarian to confetti.

Shepard smiled at the kitten. "I think I love you already little guy." She then paused to consider exactly how one trained a kitten to perform such a thing.

Liara's soft voice was amused. "I do not like batarians."

Shepard shuddered.

**-TSMT-TH-**

Shepard, Grunt, and Miranda had gone to Ilium to locate and recruit Thane Krios, who according to TIM was a Remembrance Dancer and had taken part in the operation to recover her body on Omega. Miranda had confirmed this, and impressed on Shepard that Krios' abilities made him a top-priority addition to the team.

They knew where he was, but there was a complication. Shepard's team had to shoot through a tower full of mercs to get there.

The last Eclipse merc in the room went down, the Salarian tech specialist having his head disintegrated by a round from Shepard's Sunfire.

Shepard looked over to see Grunt examining the dead merc and using his omni-tool to flash-fab a fork and knife.

"Grunt...what the fuck are you doing with those?"

Grunt looked up, then played back an audio recording on his omni-tool, apparently of Wrex.

"Any mercs dumb enough to fight Shepard are fools, you should eat them."

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. "Wrex was being … facetious."

Miranda's lips quirked. "I did not know krogan could do facetious."

Grunt merely shrugged, and turned back to the merc. "Besides, I'm hungry. And you are always going on about waste not want not."

Shepard moved her hand away from the bridge of her nose to hold it up in the air slightly, still looking down. "Grunt, we do not eat people. It's disgusting, unsanitary, and probably bad for your teeth - and we're in a hurry."

Grunt sighed, dropping the fork and knife and standing, before getting a thoughtful look on his features. "Heh. I get it."

Almost scared to do so, but dumb enough to try anyway, Shepard looked up to see Grunt taking a flamethrower from a different dead merc. "...do I even want to ask?"

He gave her a happy grin. "We can't slow down. So I'll fry 'em with this. _Fast food_!"

Miranda shook her head. "I once thought the concept of a krogan as your child ridiculous. I stand corrected."

**-TSMD-TH-**

Shepard watched in awe as the Catalyst exploded into power, even as Liara cradled her shattered body. She swallowed blood, knowing her death was near...but a savage grin split her battered features as she saw just what the Catalyst had called forth from death to face the Reaper-corrupted Richard Williams.

Benezia.

Okeer.

Ahern.

Tetrimus.

The four looked at each other, then at the now shaken Richard Williams, and Okeer was the first to laugh.

"You are beyond owned, son."

Williams screamed. "I AM THE GOD-EMPEROR!" He began to radiate a fell golden-red light, swelling in size, his already long brown hair lengthening, his armor becoming more baroque and elaborate, eventually morphing into glittering golden armor.

With a mighty shockwave, his sheer power pushed the four back. "**BEHOLD**!"

Ahern sighed. "Behold what? A fucking_ wheel of cheese_?"

Tetrimus flicked his mandible. "That is rather … hypocritical, coming from any of us."

Williams began to cackle madly. "HAHA! YOU CANNOT DEFEAT ME! I AM ETERNAL! ALMIGHTY!"

With a flicker of power, the Catalyst raised a fifth figure. An ill defined blob of light that suddenly sharpened into the shape of a hanar.

Blasto's voice was smug. "This one thinks you are done for. This one also thinks the author is an unimaginative hack. 40k? In this one's Mass Effect?"

Benezia nodded sagely. "It is more likely than you think."

**-TSMT-TH-**

What happens when you give Sara Shepard unlimited funds and tell her to horrify salarians? Well, the galaxy was about to find out. Due to the reaper invasion, fabrication rights management contracts that were previously tightly-controlled were released to anyone who could make use of them.

After all, there were times when not being melted and turned into more giant robot squid was more important than keeping another race from learning how you built your guns.

And so the M-9003 Hellfire super-heavy assault shotgun was born, the first prototype resting on a table in front of Shepard. Essentially the weapon was a fully automatic cross between the M-903 Sunfire plasma-compression pistol and the Claymore heavy shotgun.

If that wasn't ridiculous enough, a flamethrower was mounted under it which could accept a number of different fuel types, or things that weren't fuel at all. The most horrifying of these was pressurized SA coffee mixed with powdered polonium. And of course, the weapon also included a meter long omni-sword, which itself could be fired at enemies and replaced by the fabrication module as needed.

Inusannon supercooling technology was needed to keep the entire thing from reducing itself and the user to plasma, and then triggering a volcanic eruption when fired on full auto. A regular Sunfire pistol could fire five shots before requiring an emergency vent. A single shot from the Hellfire fired an adjustable spread of twelve compressed-plasma projectiles, and the weapon was capable of 300 RPM.

But Shepard didn't stop there. Even with the Inusannon supercooling technology, the heat generated was quite dangerous (although it at least kept the coffee warm), so she figured she might as well do something with it. Excess heat was collected in oversized thermal clips until they were about to catastrophically explode, and the clips were then launched downrange through a secondary barrel. If the weapon ran out of these clips, a fallback method was to divert the heat into a secondary plasma flamethrower.

The weapon had a number of downsides. The recoil was such that it was quite unusable by anyone except krogan, or infantry equipped with heavy powered armor. Mordin has gotten curious and tried to fire it. The result was him flying across the room and being caught by Liara's biotics before he could go through the window of the Spectre shooting range. As it was, his hardsuit needed a number of replacement parts and had been the only reason his arms weren't shattered, although he'd ended up buried so deep in Liara's cleavage that there had been no complaints.

Grunt on the other hand, had made Shepard promise to give him one once he had bruised his shoulder shooting a brute. He needed a bag of ice, while the brute needed a new torso.

Another downside was the weapon's sheer overwhelming firepower was at times, highly dangerous to the operator. Firing it inside of a building was, as Mordin put it, "problematic". There was a very real risk of the entire structure coming down from internal damage. Of course, if you wanted to bring a building down from the outside, there was no need to carry around a bunch of explosives.

Lastly, the cost was such that putting it into mass production made volus bankers around the galaxy unsure of whether to run away screaming, or smile deviously, or both.

All things considered, the design had been approved for mass production, and would be issued to krogan assault specialists, DACT, and other heavy infantry. Wrex had been notified of this, and Shepard had never seen a krogan look so excited.

The council vote had been unanimous. Sparatus had been silent for a moment, mandibles twitching, before saying he wanted one. Tevos had whispered "goddess" and passed out. Valern approved production after a long second for a salarian, and sent a copy of the schematic to the STG master. The quarian councillor was already suggesting adding electric gel to the list of things the flamethrower could use.

Udina just wanted dead reapers.

Ahern congratulated Shepard on putting on an omni-sword on the weapon and saving him the trouble of requesting it. Shepard had replied that it was like putting a flamethrower that fired flamethrowers on a dreadnaught, but why the fuck not?

**-TSMT-TH-**

"I am the Shadow Broker's info drone."

Vigil slowly circled the glowing omni-drone, emitting a low pitched tut-tut-tut sound that eventually broke into laughter. "This … is _pathetic_."

Liara folded her arms. "Not everyone has access to world shattering Inusannon AI's, I am afraid."

Vigil pulsed, before lashing out with a pseudopod of silvery fluid, obliterating the drone. "No. This is simply too primitive. I will build you a proper replacement."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "How long will THAT take?"

Vigil made a small humming noise. "Not long." It floated around, soaring over banks of computers, and located a piece of salarian statuary. "Ah….excellent."

As it began suffusing the statue with .. something .. Liara grimaced. "Vigil, that is a … ah, a work of art of the salarians. A .. fertility totem."

The sphere pulsed again. "I know. Consider this an experiment."

Liara's voice grew strained. "I do not think it is an appropriate … receptacle for any form of … assistance."

Vigil pulsed. "Receptacle...mm. You do have a point, waterbag. A more active _utility_ function would be very useful. "

Vigil paused, circled the statue, and then began reshaping it. Shepard's eyes went wide, Jack fell over laughing, and Garrus and Telanya facepalmed in synchronization.

The statue was reshaped into a generously over proportioned mockery of Shepard, nude, with inappropriate _equipment_ dominating the pelvis to a length of some two feet.

Vigil pulsed smugly as the added anatomy began vibrating violently. "And it's Inusannon smart metal if you need additional … _uses_. Double the fun!"

Zaeed walked in, wiping a rag over Jessie, and glanced at the statue. "What in the guddamned hell - why is there a goddamned Shepard dickgirl statue in here? What kind of sick fuck was the Broker?"

Before Shepard - or the shocked Liara - could say anything, Vigil stopped suddenly, then began to laugh. Shepard, familiar with said laugh, glared. "What did you just _do_?"

Vigil hummed innocently. "Sent Emily Wong a report stating the Broker's secret art collection was all of you in various poses erotica with certain enhancements. I also transmitted omni-fabrication scripts for people to create and modify their own….and a few _extras_ to one Conrad Verner."

Shepard curled up in a ball on the floor, even as Kelly's cheerful voice rang across her commlink. "You have … wow...a LOT of new messages at your terminal. And several dozen breeding request from krogan females."

**-TSMD-TH-**

_Normandy Request Board_

_Requests: Hookers, asari would be best._

Jacob: Too soon Joker. Waay too soon. You've been hanging with Vigil too much - she wouldn't appreciate it

Zaeed: Besides where in guddamned hell would we get a clean hooker? We only go to Omega and Illum.

Joker: Wasn't me, Miranda check with Vigil.

Miranda: I somehow doubt very seriously that Shepard would appreciate asari hookers. And by doubt, I mean 'she would kill someone'.

Grunt: What's a hooker? Some type of melee weapon?

Jacob: Uh…no. Look, man, we'll tell you when you're a bit older Grunt. Vigil, who posted this request?

Vigil: I assure you primitives that I am beyond such low humor nor do I derive pleasure from inflicting emotional pain upon others.

Joker: BULL SHIT. YOU ARE LIAR OF THE GODDAMNED BLACKEST VERACITY!

Vigil: I am not however not above some small amusements, also you really shouldn't have replaced your seat with a massage chair with remote controls, you are just making my job too easy.

Joker: IT'S FOR MY BONES!

Vigil: And your boner on those long nights while Tali is away?

Miranda : Cute. Now knock it off. This is not a joking matter - we need to figure out who keeps requesting these joy girls before Sara finds out about it.

Shepard: Goddamn it. I've been requesting an asari hooker for weeks now, how come none of you idiots has found one?!

Kelly Chambers: What the hell Sara? I've been dying my hair, I told you my recruitment story, I dress up like Mira...uh, a hooker, I got myself drunk in your bedroom. God Damn It! What do I have to do for some_ casual sex_ around here!

Jack: Um, when you out-whore the fucking Cheerleader and brag about banging vorcha, no one wants to _lick_ that.

Kelly: I did it for **SCIENCE**!

Mordin: Dubious methodology….unless investigating transmission vectors of scale itch. Implications..._disturbing_.

Garrus: Wait wait wait WAIT one sirefucking second. SHEPARD!? _YOU_ requested this? We thought you were still ... in mourning?

Shepard: Not for me you morons! Although maybe I should, since Jack is a weakass who can't fucking take what she dishes out.

Jack: Eat me!

Shepard: You'd just pass out. _AGAIN_.

Garrus: If I could interrupt...if not for you, then for who?

Shepard: Well….er... Grunt's birthday was coming up and rather than explaining ... stuff, I thought I would hire a professional to ... explain things. You do **NOT** want to know what Okeer put in my baby's head.

Grunt: So … a hooker is like a melee instructor?

Shepard: Not exactly.

Kelly: Actually, given how krogan fuck, pretty much **exactly** like that. You know….

**-TSMD-TH-**

_Memo: Miss Chambers, your idea of using Shepard's , unusual tendencies, as leverage paid off at the start, but there seem to be problems in the aftermath._

_The Thirty it seems figured out what the commotion in Ilium was about, and they are scrambling their big guns. They have sent 20 of their own, and they are, as I heard it, stunning. The number includes 8 daughters of the Lesser Houses and 2 granddaughters of Matriarch of T'Rome. To eliminate the obvious option I've had Pel check for Nightwind in their midst but he swears up and down they are the "real deal". Some of them were apparently gracious enough to force Mr. Leng to draw up to 2 extra breaths an hour, as outlandish as that sounds._

_The SIX has also reacted, or should I say, over reacted. Dalatrass Solus, as I understand, built an asari from the gene samples salarians have on Benezia and Liara T'Soni, Aleena T'Armal, and Uressa T'Shora herself. The end result caused 7 field agents operating in the Union to defect upon seeing her. I myself could not believe my eyes, or that her spine was not cybernetic to support breast augmentation of that magnitude._

_There is no way Shepard can resist these kind of assaults upon her psyche, these asari are enough to raise Victor himself from the dead. We will have to resort to contingencies. Is the project ready?_

"….sir, we're unable to contact the Normandy. Doctor Chambers isn't responding to the private QEC link."

Jack Harper sighed. "I see. Do we have any sightings of Shepard?"

"...all I'm getting is screaming from Ilium, sir. Also Vigil is missing."

Harper's' eyes narrowed. "Vigil. This is not an appropriate time for your sense of humor."

The sphere popped into place. "Nonsense, meatbag. It is _always_ time for trolling."

The Illusive Man closed his eyes and, once again, silently cheered the Reapers for killing the fucking Inusannon. If this is what their AI's were like, he couldn't even imagine what kind of titanic assholes the Inusannon themselves must have been.

"Shepard isn't responding."

Vigil pulsed. "She was having some...frustrations. So I decided to … assist."

Harper's composure shattered and he looked at the sphere in horrified dread. "What did you do?"

Vigil's smugness was almost palpable. "Oh, a few upgrades. Shepard was never very good at diplomacy, so I gave her some … augmentation to let her become a cunning linguist."

Harper had never been so sure in his life he did not want additional details. However, like a fool, he found himself asking anyway.

Vigils' answer broke his last remaining sanity, and he began to giggle, even as panicked transmissions from Illum spread across the galaxy, showing Shepard had been somehow upgraded to produce clones of herself and was … relieving her stress on the entire asari population of Ilium.

At once. Repeatedly.

-CRITICAL MISSION FAILURE-

**-TSMD-TH-**

Shepard was seriously going to strangle Kelly for this. The damn red-head had ruined their name-brand (and highly expensive) coffee machine. All they were left with was the stock SA coffee maker, and as the coffee was now used for weapons, that only left the substance the SA claimed was tea.

Well it couldn't be as bad as their coffee. Shepard shuddered as she remembered drinking it.

She had never, in her life drank tea in the morning - sure, people said it was just as good as coffee, yet nothing gave a good kick like coffee did.

"Well, good time as any to try. Missed out on it the first time," grumbled Shepard, making herself some tea. Letting it set for three minutes, like it instructed, she was just about to sip it before the form of Vigil appeared next to her.

"What are you doing, undead chieftain?" asked the floating orb next to her.

"Making tea, what does it look like? Didn't your kind have something similar to that?" asked Shepard, looking at the sphere.

"You mean that biohazard?" questioned Vigil, a sigh escaping its voice. "I know you think you are immortal, meatbag, but trying to suicide can be done less painfully."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not trying to kill myself."

"Oh, I see - well, if you are wishing to indulge in your 'getting horribly maimed' routine - a sexual kink for you yes? - might I suggest a detour to Omega or Tuchanka instead? At least with those locales, you won't end up with your insides becoming your outsides, and your bowels won't end up looking like the test range for fuel-air-eezo explosives.

The sphere pulsed. "As for Inusannon drinks...nothing that vile. Not that I am a connoisseur of such things - I know your pea-sized mind struggles to contain more than meat-headed rage, but I am a machine and do not drink. The Inusannon had some stupid rites - one involved running through plasma-fire races - but even those had better survivability-rates than drinking that toxin."

As Vigil soon disappeared from view, Shepard eyed the black sludge in front of her, and for a moment pondered, if it would safer to drink hydraulic oil - before the thing ate through the cup, the floor and into the deck below.

"FUCKING BALLS! WHO BROUGHT THAT SA-TOXIN HERE?!" yelled the voice of Zaeed Massani from below. "YOUR SHIT ALMOST KILLED GUDDAMNED JESSIE!"

A moment later, the hull breach alarm sounded, and Shepard just sighed.


	8. Editing Gang: Write, mofo!

**OF SERENDIPITY AND BALANCE : THE EDITING GANG SAYS SANITY IS FOR THE WEAK  
**

In which the Editing Gang loses both patience with my slow writing pace and their mind.

The Kitten Wars also continue.

This is mostly the work of the Editing Gang. Once again, it is set in the canon Premiseverse. (I give up. Man's delusional.) (SILENCE! The chickens talk to me.) (...and he accuses US of being drunk and on drugs?)

Remember:_ This is all Progman's fault._

* * *

"Shepard."

"Wrex."

"Shepard."

"Oh stop it primitives!"

(Yells Vigil as Garrus trolls in the background)

**-TSMT-TH-**

**Breaking the Fourth Wall**

Grunt looked around and growled, "Mother, what is that noise?"

Shepard tilted her head as she checked the PlayAzure centerfold and replied blandly, "The angry mob, son."

The baby krogan that was in fact a giant, scratched his unfused headplate in confusion. "Ugh, can I eat them?"

"Nope. You'll get an indigestion. Remember the last time you had one? We had to sanitize the whole Normandy." She gave him a black look which actually made him take a step back. "If I have to listen to one more goddamned joke about potty training or suffering through Vigil's brand of humor AGAIN, because you had an accident, your future will include discovering what it means to be a female krogan."

Grunt looked aghast at his mother and crossed his hands in front of his armored codpiece. "Right. No eating the mob. What about shooting them? Can I at least get some target practice from them. They are so loud and I have this urge..."

Sara Ying Shepard stopped admiring the nubile asari on her omni-tool and glanced at her son. "I thought we had taken care of that when we were on Omega. Don't tell me six asari dancers and three female drells weren't enough?"

Grunt sheepishly looked away, chuckling. "Heh-heh-heh..."

Shepard rolled her eyes and flipped the haptic page, smirking when she beheld the asari triplets smearing baby oil on each other. Whoever patented the 6th generation GIF, should get a nobel prize. She sighed when her son continued chuckling and didn't seem intent on stopping. At least she broke him out of the habit of declaring his species before he atomized something with his shotgun death star. "Yeah, how about no. Besides, the mob isn't here for you or me. They are here for the author."

Grunt gave a krogan equivalent of confused look which made him look constipated and murderous at the same time. "Who?"

Shepard rolled her eyes. "You know, the human writing this story, making me all sexually frustrated as of late when all I need is a single, steamy session with [_**REDACTED BY THE COMMISSARIAT FOR HERETICAL AND ANATOMICALLY IMPOSSIBLE CRIMES AGAINST NATURE. GODDAMN IT WOMAN, GET HELP**_.] You know, the Author."

Grunt swallowed thickly and made to retreat from his mother's stateroom. There were some things a son shouldn't know about his mother. "I don't know who you're speaking of. I'm leaving... I'll see you around." The krogan beat a hasty retreat. What was heard couldn't be unheard...

Shepard shook her head and lit a cigarette, taking a drag of the aromatic tobacco and flipping to the next page of PlayAzure.

Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Wonder how she can contort like that? Shepard angled her head and moved her omni-tool in another direction but still couldn't figure how the asari did THAT. Maybe she'd had removed some of her lower ribs. Heard that Ashland broad did that so she could do the lips to lips maneuver.

Sara blew the smoke through her nose and then glared right at you. "Don't you have something to write? Or do I have to sic another mob at you?"

**-TSMT-TH-**

Sara couldn't believe her eyes what she was seeing, or rather what her eyes were translating as images - either somebody, somewhere had a really screwed up mind or her sensors were malfunctioning.

Vigil had sent the entire Normandy crew a vid, of what he dubbed Mutated Lizard and Primitive Human - when he had been checking the numerous data-feeds that were being sent throughout the Galaxy. Starring, what looked to be Jason Delacor and being chased what looked to be a mutated flying lizard, that she was ninety-nine percent sure looked like a dragon from a cheap-fantasy tale.

"Did I accidentally drink that SA-crap again?" asked Sara looking at her coffee, which seemed to be the high-grade she usually drank, being only the second person in the entire Normandy who wasn't laughing their butt-off. She took a long sip of it, wondering from what Terminus backwater planet did that freak of human-nature crawled out of.

That moment ended, when Shepard choked-out her coffee onto the vid-screen, when Delacor's lower-armor that covered his back and waist was bitten off by that mutant lizard. "Who in the fuck wears rainbow-colored underwear?!" asked Sara, also succumbing to the laughter that plagued the ship.

In the science-lab, Mordin Solus simply shook his head at what he was seeing. "Cloning of extinct animals-," then his eyes twitched, at the moment when the lizard bit-off Delacor's lower armor. "-never a good idea. STG never one for reason. New weapon, maybe. Or likely source of entertainment. Need more data, likely both."

**-TSMT-TH-**

"Shepard. Glad you came. Need second opinion," said Mordin, as soon as Sara entered the science-lab, wanting to ask the salarian a personal matter.

"Alright, what you got, doc?" asked Sara, walking over to a vid-screen that Mordin was typing behind.

"Possible Reaper cyber-warfare weapon. Take a look," he replied, starting up a vid on the screen. As Sara leaned closer and started viewing it.

"Wait a minute! This is krogan-salarian por-" spoke Shepard, before her sensors and brain malfunctioned. Thank you, come again. Her entire body then collapsing onto the lab-deck, twitching and speaking gibberish.

"Hmm. Effective against organic targets too. Opinion?" debated Mordin.

"Flying monkey-pyjak unicorn fish sandwich…" replied Sara, still twitching on the floor.

"Medical to science lab," informed Mordin on his omni-tool, before he shut down the new Solus Anti-Reaper Weapon.

**-TSMT-TH-**

Miranda stared aghast at the weapon Shepard was adding the finishing touches to. "What in the name of creation is that thing?"

Shepard smirked, lifting it up. A rotary cylinder of metal and Prothean crystal surrounded a barrel with an opening the size of her fist, with heat venting down its length. "Made me a particle beam minigun."

Miranda, against her better judgement, spoke again. "Why?"

Shepard's smirk became slightly crazed as she placed a Kangol hat on her head backwards. "Particle beams, the very best there is. For when you absolutely, positively have to kill every last motherfucker in the room!"

Garrus, leaning on the wall nearby, nodded. "Accept no substitutes."

**-TSMT-TH-**

On Earth in the Tower, the High Lords of Terra are interrupted by a harried looking messenger.

"My Lords the there has been a new announcement from the rebels. I'm sorry to inform you it has lead to the defections of the entirety of the Third and Fourth Fleets."

Lord Manswell quickly pulled up the newest piece of propaganda on his omni. It was put forth by the Shepard/Cerberus/Military Rebellion that seized control of the outer colonies and the Second Fleet in a matter of days.

Normally the Citadel wouldn't stand for such foolishness but the SIX were suddenly engulfed in a war of assassins and the Thirty were facing open rebellion from the clanless. Most shockingly the Turians just had a bloodless revolution and the Palavanus were in the process of reorganizing the Hierarchy.

"Don't let word of this get to the SolGuard, the Commissars might not be able to stop a mutiny." He croaked after the piece finished.

"My Lord," the messenger quaked under the gaze of the assembled High Lords. "The Commissariat are among the defectors. It appears they organized the mutiny among the Third Fleet and some elements supported the defection among the Fourth Fleet. The loyalists among the Sol Guard report they don't know how much longer before mutinies breakout among the enlisted troops."

"How is that possible? What could possibly be powerful enough message to break their conditioning?" Raged Windsor.

"Did the Butcher offer them asari whores? Booze on every ship?" Questioned the Emperor of Japan. With the finality of a doomed man, Manswell projected the message to the rest of the High Lords.

"We are doomed," despaired Al Saud.

"What if we rushed our private supply to the front? Would that allow us to turn this around?" Coleman tried.

"It's too late," replied Windsor.

"So what do we do?" Questioned Coleman.

Manswell reflected in those last moments and thought on his mistakes. "We have been outmaneuvered. We are now outnumbered and outgunned, our remaining soldiers are now unreliable. We have no choice. We… surrender," he finally conceded.

The humiliation of losing to such a cheap ploy irked him to no end. For all his 'loyal' soldiers to defect en masse, for the revelation his black projects were paid for from the profits made off selling SA coffee to the military was too much for his mind to handle.

Also the rebels got better food, real coffee, and joint exercises with new Alliance asari units but that was besides the point.

* * *

And then…. Wrex was a fruitcake.

* * *

Meanwhile in the secret meeting room of the six (that is totally not right under the meeting room of the high lords and you are getting a mindwipe for no particular reason)

"NOOOOOOOO… The coffee…" Yelled Muvai Solus as the flood of coffee that was being used to boil the high lords alive spilled into the meeting chambers.

**-TSMT-TH-**

_...50 001 years ago_

Javik had some downtime, finally after the Reapers had stopped chasing him, locked down underneath a bunker several kilometres under the surface - he needed some rest and some time to catch his breath. As thus, he did something unheard of at this time - watched a show on his omnitool; he needed a good laugh and some remembrance. He brought up the vid, dubbed Hairy Primitive, said to be from some blue-planet.

Seeing four hairy primitives going like, well primitives gave him a good laugh - how anybody figured they could be Empire-material ever, needed to have himself brain shaved.

"OH! AH! UHH!"

_...Present_

Javik watched with controlled dis-amusement, as the human called Shepard, was barking at the leaders of the current galaxy on the communicator. In retrospect, it might have been a good thing, they didn't have the option of brain shaving here.

"OH! You damn idiots! AH!" yelled Shepard, at their idiocy to ignore everything - even with a Prothean explaining them the issue of getting together or dying. If they were set on fire, they would also think it was 'a dismissed claim'. "UHH! Politicians!"

Albeit, when she started venting, he had slight twitch at his mouth, remembering that old Prothean show - wondering, if any of those hairy primitives, might have been one of Shepard' ancestors.

**-TSMT-TH-**

"This hurts you."

"Enough!" Shepard screamed, and pulled a new weapon from her hip. It was a modernized squirt gun from the 21st century, though it wasn't loaded with water. She pulled the trigger and a stream of SA tea hit the harbinger collector in the face.

"This hurts...me?" it said as it began to dissolve into a bubbling puddle on the ground.

**-TSMT-TH-**

**Javik channels Jackson**

"I've had it! With these motherfucking Husks ! On this motherfucking ship! Throw them out the airlock!"

**-TSMT-TH-**

Shepard was currently busy, feeding her three chickens and a rooster - Cerberus having decided to replace the fish tank, and save drinking water on it, with a simple habitat. Who had thought of the idea of chickens in the first place likely had drank a dozen cups of SA-coffee and had been shooting Hallex, but that was Cerberus for you.

Sara had just finished sprinkling chicken-feed on the floor of their glass-home - when the rooster looked at her and opened its beak.

"Ca-ca-li-bra-tions…" cried the rooster, before returning to eat the chicken-feed. Sara, merely having her eye twitch at that act, as she looked over her box of chicken feed - Palaven' Delight; Dextro-Feed.

Somewhere, some Palavanus was likely laughing in his grave.

**-TSMT-TH-**

Shepard was working in her quarters on the Normandy when she decided to call Joker on the commlink for a status update. "Joker, are we near Omega yet?" she said.

"Sorry Shepard", Joker replied. "The FTL drive went down. Every time we try to start it up there's an error message. Something about it's disabled until the destination is written, whatever that means."

"It means the human writing this story last century hasn't finished deciding on the little details about what happens on Omega, so the ship is stuck for now", Shepard said.

Joker was confused now. "Wait, so if the guy writing the story is working on Omega, who's writing this conversation?"

Shepard laughed. "That would be one of the editing gang people. They're getting excited about an upcoming update, and when that happens, we end up with a new line of coffee based weapons."

**-TSMT-TH-**

Garrus was starting to get used to his current situation. He wasn't sure which was harder to believe, that he was still alive or that Shepard was alive again. Both were true however, and Garrus was on his way to speak with Shepard in her base's firing range.

When he arrived he saw Shepard tinkering with some kind of weapon he had not yet seen. It sort of resembled a large rocket launcher with a scope.

"Shepard, what are you working on?"

Shepard looked back and smiled at Garrus. "It's a sniper shotgun."

"...A sniper shotgun?" Garrus asked, confused. "It looks nothing like a shotgun."

"You'll see, chicken." Shepard raised the weapon to her shoulder and aimed it downrange at one of her favorite targets, a batarian slaver of course. She fired, and a Claymore shotgun attached to thrusters and outfitted with an omni-bayonet rocketed out of the launcher's cavernous barrel.

The shotgun cleared the distance in a fraction of a second, before spearing the batarian mock-up through the nose with the omni-bayonet. The shotgun then discharged in the target's face, the recoil giving it a boost as the thrusters carried it back to the launcher it had come from.

Garrus broke out laughing, then regretted doing so as his wounds from the Omega clusterfuck weren't yet fully healed.

Shepard shrugged. "Tali was complaining she couldn't hit things at range with her shotgun when we went to get you. Had an idea to fix that."

Garrus was starting to wonder if the revived Shepard was crazier than before, but then he realized he wasn't exactly the same since her death either.


	9. Editing Gang : Trolling in the deeeep

**OF SERENDIPITY AND BALANCE : HIJINKS EDITION**

In which Sanity takes a back seat to ... whatever this is.

Most of this is the Editing Gang.

Remember: _This is all Progman's fault. _

X-TSMT-X

**_ELLIPSIS ABUSE!_**

_... .. .. .. .x.x.x. ... _

_And the megalipsis! ...!...!_

_"I...just though t-that.. maybe ... .. you know ... long ... pauses in the ... text...might ...help?"_

_*eats popcorn, waits for cursing*_

X-TSMT-X

"Push harder," Shepard grunted, bracing herself.

Garrus huffed and wheezed. "I'm trying, Sheep. It just won't fit."

"Bullshit!" She narrowed her eyes and used the short break to wipe her sweat covered forehead. "Are you going soft on me, Chicken? Did the big bad mercs hurt you more than you're letting on?"

His mandibles twitched. "Spirits, Shepard, you really know how to make a turian feel appreciated."

She tilted her chin up. "Less whining – more work. Push."

"I am!"

"Push _harder_, dammit!"

"It won't fit."

"It will, I'm sure. Stop being so negative."

Garrus slumped against the Die Hard themed pinball machine. "Can't you just use your biotics to – I don't know – widen the entry or something?"

Shepard looked over the bulk of the machine from the other side of the door and threw Garrus a thunderous look. "I...," she trailed off before rallying quickly, "I don't want to damage it in case my biotics go wonky. It's delicate"

The turian who was once a detective felt his fringe tighten in suspicion. "Shepard, I can tell when you're lying." His mandibles spread in undisguised amusement. "It's alright, Sheep, nothing wrong in forgetting you can just use your biotics to put this thing in."

Sara shook her head vehemently. "No, no, no. That's not it; don't be ridiculous, Vakarian." She paused and cleared her throat. "It's just that this thing cost a lot of money and TIM and Miranda have been giving me all kinds of shit over buying it. I really, really don't want to damage it."

"Uh-huh," his tone said it all.

"Really."

With a sheepish expression Shepard used her biotics to move the pinball game inside Grunt's room.

"This stays between us, Chicken." She glared at him. "Not a word to anyone or they won't find your body. Ever."

"No worries, Sheep," Garrus assured, his excellent mood making him almost bounce as he walked next to her. "My mother would have my plates if she found out I made fun of the slower parts of the galaxy's demographic."

"This close, Chicken," She showed him a tiny space between her thumb and index finger. "You're this close to qualifying for Final Line conversion. I'm sure I could sell the idea to Miranda and TIM. Maybe a control chip in what goes for you bird brain so you aren't so mouthy."

He only laughed more.

After a moment, he asked, "So how much did that thing cost actually?"

She told him and Garrus almost tripped before doubling over and giving a hacking cough.

"Spirits of Air and Fire, Sheep!" he fairly exploded. "We could buy another battlesuit for that money! No wonder Lawson's been sulking since last week."

Shepard shrugged. "Yeah, whatever, it's been six months since I decanted Grunt. I felt like celebrating. And before you make some crack about asari prostitutes know that the game I bought is real vintage material, predating the Days of Iron. It's the real thing."

But Garrus wasn't listening. He was standing there with his eyes closed, muttering about Krysae sniper rifle and Sunfire pistols and all the other things they could buy on the black markets of the galaxy.

X-TSMT-X

Sparatus' mandibles twitched irritably as he threw a dismissive look at the Elcor Ambassador. "You'll have to excuse us if we don't take your word for it, Ambassador. We are the Citadel Council and we deal in facts."

Tevos gave Udina a long-suffered look when the human began having a coughing fit from which her translator picked up two words that sounded suspiciously like: bull shit.

The eclor tilted his head up and uttered monotonly: "With polite firmness: Our Lifemasters wish to remind the honored and wise Council that elcor mines aren't inexhaustible-"

Sparatus scoffed. "Ah, yes. The venerable Elcor Lifemasters with their long established tradition of basing their policy and export prices on drug-induced hallucinations." The turian gave the elcor an incredulous look and made his trademark air quote. "That policy is exactly why you still don't have a council seat."

He folded his arms and fought back a sneer as he looked at his fellow councilors which was the reason why he completely missed the ambassador closing in with him and laying a good one across his face.

Sparatus went down faster than Lidanya in her heyday.

"I never knew an elcor could move this fast," Valern mused speculatively, stroking his chin and giving the elcor ambassador a considerate look. Next to him Thin'Korris nudged the unresponsive Sparatus with the tip of his shoe even as Tevos' frantic calls for security rang through the Council Chamber.

Udina stood to the side and recorded everything with his omni-tool. Stuff like that was the only reason why he still had his sanity. Grinning like a knave he made sure to get extra shots of Tevos pressing a hand to her forehead and looking on the verge of killing them all with her biotics. He glanced at Sparatus and winced in sympathy, bad enough he got punched by an elcor, his face plates looked all messed up and his right mandible was snapped in half and hanging limply by a thread of a muscle, leaking blue blood.

Deciding it was time to work on some turian-human relations and present a concerned side of the Systems Alliance Udina did the sensible thing and applied some medi-gel to Sparatus' face.

_And people say I'm a bastard_. _Bloody ingrate peasants_.

X-TSMT-X

High Spectre Jondum Bau Advises: : _Don't use grenades against salarians. Or try to catch salarian grenades. Better yet, don't join the Blue Suns._

Jondum Bau calmly counted the seconds as the thick pillar he was taking cover behind was slowly being shot at - in a very ineffectual manner - by a group of Blue Suns mercenaries. He had been deployed to catch a notorious terrorist, who had joined the Blue Suns in an effort to avoid capture and get killed by the Council. Or more likely, brutally murdered by the people who he pissed off - killing a distant relative of the SIX. Stupid mistakes were one thing, but that was either suicidal or idiotic - and likely both.

He had taken down so many Blue Suns in his career that he had stopped counting at around five thousand. So while he was being shot at by five human mercs, he wasn't too alarmed. Two to the right, two to the left and one sniper on the catwalks above in this decrepit warehouse. He'd already killed the target and six more, and he just had to get past this last bunch before he could leave.

He wondered exactly why they were just shooting at the pillar - was it supposed to make him move? Human tactics were so … strange. Nevertheless, given that the pillar was solid durasteel, he figured he had time to finish that mod-job on his handgun that he had been too busy to finish while the Blue Suns tried to hit him with their poor accuracy.

How a galaxy wide PMC could accept soldiers - much less snipers - that couldn't hit the broad side of a pregnant elcor left him perplexed. He chuckled as he got the pistol to accept the mod, then sighed. This was boring.

He soon keyed a program in his omni-tool, spraying a glob of omnigel at a Blue Suns merc to his right, just as the merc was about to throw a grenade at him. And, of course, the idiot had 'cooked' it - triggered and held it to shorten the delay before explosion. This left a live grenade stuck to his hand and lead the man in general to start panicking, trying to scrape it off in a peculiar way.

Bau sighed in amusement as it exploded in his hand, taking his hand, arm, toros, ass - and the face of the partner next to him - into the new and exciting frontier of explosive chunkification.

Two more on the left he mentally noted as he armed a snap-flak grenade, throwing it to his left side. The merc in-question was stupid enough to grab it from mid-air and try to throw it back - realizing too late, his hand was stuck.

Bau was speechless. The first guy, bad luck. What kind of clown tries to grab a flat-pak greande that everyone knows is going to be covered in fast-adhering omnigel? It couldn't get more hilarious than that.

The Spectre watched in barely concealed amusement as, like the idiot before, the merc tried to get it off. He was doing something unlikely with his foot and screaming his fool head off before losing his balance and falling flat on his face.

The grenade in question detonated, spraying its content around the area. Killing the idiot, and the second hiding behind a crate of explosives. Why someone would hide behind a crate of explosives was yet another thing Bau found himself not wanting to know, instead watching as shrapnel from the explosion rocketed out and up, smashing the sniper in a high perch out of his stance and sending him screaming in a high-pitched way to the ground to land with a sickening thud-splat.

Jondum Bau merely took a look around him and brought his omnitool up. "VI. Note threat of Blue Suns: from _idiotic stupid_ to _use vorcha IQ-charts._"

X-TSMT-X

_So we just finished the Khorne Arc in the Archangel Ascent Incident._

**BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! ANGST FOR THE ANGST THRONE! HARRIERS FOR THE CUP! **Wait wut?

* * *

_Presumably Slaanesh will be the Sisters of Vengeance Incident._

Telanya and Melenis eyed each other warily, while Garrus cringed. Then Telanya spoke. "I was here first. I get on top."

Melenis gave a shrug. "That's okay, I like tongue better anyway. So, halfsies?"

Telanya smiled and the two turned on Garrus with predatory smiles. "Sure why not."

Garrus stammered out bits of words and Shepard just took a large step back, pulling a confused Liara with here. "We should go, Chicken."

"Shepard don't - AAAGH! Rape! Raaaaaapeee-mrpghhl!"

Shepard shuddered as she ran full out, pulling Liara along. "Jesus Christ. No threeways, Liara."

The asari gave a small shrug. "Mm. Pity. I was wondering about Traynor…"

* * *

_Tzeentch the assault on the Shadow Broker or maybe the politicking after the Sister of Vengeance?_

The Shadow Broker gave a tired, disgusted sigh. "Seriously? Not only did I fail to kill ANY of these fucking hack Mary Sues, you even turn Tazzik against me?"

The salarian puffed on his cigar as he leaned against a wall next to Grunt. "Hey, boss, maybe next time don't put bombs in my head that Vigil can deactivate in half a microsecond, and I'll show more loyalty."

The Broker turned to face Shepard. "I will kill you all."

Shepard, smoking a cigarette, just smirked. "Nope."

The Broker smashed his fist into her face, which came apart in fractal static, revealing only hovering drones. The lead one projected Shepard's voice. "LOL, just as planned. Look out the window, tubby."

Without thinking the big yagh moved to the wide glass window, just as Garrus, Shepard, and a gleeful looking Jack Harper fired sniper rifles from the now decloaking form of the Normandy's cargo bay. The three shots blew his head off instantly.

* * *

_What about Nurgle, investigating the Batarian Empire perhaps?_

Deep in the empty spaces of elcor space, the Lifemasters gathered in a circle.

"Excitement: the offering is prepared."

A bubbling cauldron of blue-green slime, set off with vapors that could have knocked out a hanar, gave an ugly sounding glop before it began to bubble fiercely.

"With exultation: Mighty Nurgle, bless our sacrifice, that we may Open the Ways."

The cauldron glowed greenish white and exploded, showering the Lifemasters with the liquids. Where it once stood now crouched a slime covered being, that slowly got to its feet.

"Gleeful revenge: we have succeeded."

The being glanced around, then twitched and divided into two identical forms, who looked at each other and said "Daamn, Kanye, you look good." A moment later there were four.

"Grim amusement: Let us send them to Earth. That will teach them to steal our weed and hash."

The four Kanye Wests looked around, then frowned as there were now eight of them. "Yo yo yo. Where my people at? So much of me to admire and worship, I shouldn't be denied the fruits of my hard earned brilliance."

One of the elcor gave a snort then died of laughter. The leader merely nodded its head. "Sarcastic irony: Oh, don't worry, we're sending you to them now."

* * *

_The moral of the story: Henry is functionally insane. Please feed the troll. :D_

X-TSMT-X

Tradius Ahern groaned heavily, still nursing an ice-bag over his precious cargo; as he sat behind his desk and was reading their current mission report.

Having to chase a whack-job to some holy-technology site called Ilos, which was - of course - overrun by more fucking quarians.

And even getting to Ilos had been nothing but hard and irritating work. Everything had gone, down-hill, since Virmire - first, he had that damn galaxy-fucking-matriarch in his grasp, who decided to cheat and kick him in the lower region, before escaping. Then getting chewed out by the environmentalists when he returned to the Citadel, since he detonated a nuke on a _garden-world_. Even worse, he had to fill-out a nine-thousand page long essay of apology to those damn tree-fuckers, so the Normandy could be released.

And finally, the Council was having their 'official' tea-time - when he needed their help and ships, on stopping that crazy biotic-bitch. So, he was going solo, into unknown territory - with a semi-sane crew, a crazy batarian nutjob, a crazier turian, another turian with a hard-on for shooting anything with a suit, and a hanar, who wouldn't stop preaching about Jingles or Enkindlers or whatever.

"Can this day, get any worse?!" groaned Tradius, still in pain - before the door to his quarters opened, and in walked Rachel Florez, with a beaming smile on her face.

"I'm pregnant!" cheered Rachel, smiling at him.

Tradius, at that moment, cursed in such a language that only a 13-dimensional being would understand it before he pulled a gun from his hip and pointed it at the screen. "Get your fucking ass, back here Author! Before this retarded Editing Gang idiot writes up something, more fucked than your Sheep-story."

At that cue, Rachel, took the moment to rub her tummy and speak, on how 'daddy would read to them, and spoil them and tuck them in at night'. Tradius shivering at that image - and he thought getting biotically kicked in the nuts was painful.

And then, of course the Voice of the Author sounded. "Mm. Good idea."

Ahern glared. "I'm going to climb out of this fucking text and murderfuck each and every one of you aftermaths of a failed lobotomy conducted with goddamned tweezers and wear your skins as a fucking COAT!"

Rachel only giggled and began pulling up baby clothing on her omni-tool. "Look! Blasto PJ's."

X-TSMT-X

Once upon a time Shepard called a meeting. It was a grand affair, including QEC teleconferencing for those who couldn't attend in person.

Then with all the gravity of a steel-toe boot to the groin, Sara said, "I have an idea. For a new weapon. A weapon to end all weapons."

Grown men wept.

Women despaired.

The eternal orgy of House Vabo ground to a halt.

Turians took stock of their armories.

The salarians locked down their hatcheries.

The whole galaxy seemed to be holding its breath.

Joker adjusted his ball cap and sighed, "Here we go again."

The Illusive Man drained his glass of scotch.

Liara whimpered. Tali wrung her hands. Garrus muttered a quick prayer. So did Ashley. It was one of those rare occasions when Jiong was grateful for his conditioning as he calmly checked his flamer. Susan forced herself to smile and be upbeat.

Pressly nodded to Miranda. Some unseen communication going between those two as they both picked up a data-pad and began making notes.

Goto could be heard muttering something about raiding Shepard's panty drawer.

Miranda on the other hand was slowly tapping her lower lip and staring ahead with a thoughtful expression on her face, murmuring: "Spare body parts? Check. Body bags? Check. WD40? Hmm, I'll have to order more." She gave Shepard a considering look. "Better stock on it."

Back on the Citadel, Donnel Udina shook his head and pulled out a bottle of Stolnichnaya. Then, he touched the omni-intercom on his desk and told his secretary: "Clear my schedule. We have political shitstorm incoming."

"Right away, sir. Should I alert the other councilors, too?"

"Oh absolutely. I wouldn't dream of ruining their days."

". . . Right."

Pel and Leng showed they were the only ones with functioning brains and promptly stood up before leaving for the hangar bay.

"I hear the Death Watch are somewhere in the Silver Rim right now," Leng told Pel conversationally. "In the spirit of revisiting old grudges I propose we go there immediately and see what the spikes are doing."

Pel gave the shorter man an astonished look. "Huh. Imagine that. An asian with a good idea."

Leng's smile sharpened. "I said grudges. Not sexual liaisons." Then he tripped Pel and derived much amusement from the resulting faceplant.

X-TSMT-X

How Shepard became a Commissar!

Commandant-General Michael Hazred was at the moment, reading on his datapad - several names of Commissars who had distinguished themselves in the Service of the Father; when one name caught his eye. A young Commissar Lancer, by the name of Sara Ying Shepard.

He activated his omni-tool to that, and contacted the _Assessment Cadre_ \- wondering why a junior Commissar, was on the list of people, who were to be raised to command-level status.

"Yes, Commandant-General?"

"Why do we have a Lancer on the list?"

"She has gone beyond the call of Our Father - reducing crime within the NYARC by 80%, rioting by 95%, child slavery by 100% and gang activity by 99% - in only six days."

"That is...unbelievable."

"...and she is also responsible for setting half of the NYARC on fire."

Hazred looked surprised at, before looking out the window, and seeing half the buildings on fire in the NYARC. Then turned back to his omni-tool.

"Give that bitch a raise!"

Mordin was in his lab working on a new type of toxic ammo for use in heavy mass accelerator weapons, specifically sniper rifles.

It looked much like a standard spool of heavy wire, however the inside of the wire was filled with concentrated SA coffee. The sniper rifle's mechanism would snip off and shape a segment as normal before loading it into the accelerator and firing it at the hapless target.

Much like Shepard's uranium hexafluoride ammo, the concentrated coffee ammo would induce toxic shock syndrome in the target, as well as horror in targets nearby.

While Garrus's typically killed his targets in one shot anyway, Shepard had insisted that the whole team be equipped with coffee based weapons because at this point it was a tradition, if not one of her team's calling cards.

X-TSMT-X

"To Shadow Broker, from Sara Shepard."

The ominous package had been found outside one of the broker's outposts, and was being scanned by a tech specialist for unpleasant surprises. Unfortunately for the specialist, the package was rigged to activate when scanned. The package burst and began spreading black nano through the building.

Within minutes, the entire building had been consumed. At that point the nanomachines were programmed to cease replication and produce SA coffee. Shortly afterward there was a giant puddle of the terrible goop where the building was previously.

In orbit, the Normandy was in full stealth, watching. Shepard ground her teeth. "No one steals my lame plot devices and lives!"


	10. Editing Gang: STG Report on Coffee

_**A/N: **The Editing Gang strikes again! Thanks to Mrosera and all others who wrote this up - I actually had almost nothing to do with it.  
_

_(Editing Gang: That's because he spent the entire fucking weekend drunk off his ass) _

* * *

**-STG - STG -STG-**

STG Report on human Systems Alliance Undercover Chemical Weapons:

Junior Agent Mrosera to the STG Master

As requested, (and I must say as far as punishment details go, this is the most vile thing you've ever done) I've put together a briefing document covering everything we currently know, and that I have so far discovered, about the chemical weapons masquerading as beverages that are used within the human SA. This data was largely gathered from the reports of Mordin Solus while working with Sara Shepard, recently revealed to be the Butcher. This has been… an illuminating experience that has opened my eyes to new possibilities.

By new possibilities, I mean I'd like to request Shieldbreaker conversion before doing this again.

While not nearly as dangerous as black nano, the beverages used within the SA, most notably coffee, should not be allowed within salarian space. Or Council Space. For that matter, they would not be amiss if not even allowed in vorcha space. This is due to their effects on sentient life, including insanity, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, muscle cramps, spontaneous combustion, and with excessive use - seeing higher dimensions leading to loss of all traces of sanity, shortly before dissolving into a puddle and that puddle dissolving through the floor…

I am designating this report at Black-Collapse Eight, as it isn't completely catastrophic.

Yet.

**CAUTION : Read FIRST:**

This data is based upon eyewitness evidence, Cerberus reports I was able to access, and both my own and Doctor Solus' observations of what happened after these… things… were used.

It is highly probable that far worse has been developed by groups within the human SA (namely the High Lords, who seem to have no end to their evil), and for that reason this file should be considered a baseline of the hazard level of these substances. Assume this file is an understatement.

**-STG - STG -STG-**

**System Alliance Undercover Chemical Weapons**

* * *

**Overview:**

_Known items: _Coffee, Tea, Ration biscuits(1).

_Known alternate names: _Sludge, Mud, Used Oil, Nuclear Waste, Troll Sauce, what-the-fuck-is-this-shit / Xenomorph blood(_2)__, _SA Toxin / Bricks, Neutronium bricks, tooth-be-gone, body armor.

_1: Not chemical weapon, however noteworthy for other reasons._

_2: Human popular culture reference dating from nearly 200 years ago._

* * *

**Historical Notes:**

As best we have been able to discover, much of the reason these items exist can be traced back to the highest level of the human government, the High Lords of Sol. Early in the history of the SA, the High Lords gave deliberately inferior equipment to the SA military, and superior equipment to their own private forces. This was to ensure that the military could not effectively turn on the High Lords. Other reasons are more sinister.

SA coffee appears to be intended to lower morale. SA Tea appears to be intended to, when properly prepared, act as a method of assassination.

* * *

**SA Coffee:**

Hated amongst the SA military, and by other species unfortunate enough to be exposed to it, SA coffee is a thick, dark brown sludge. The smell varies from what proper coffee would smell like, if it was mixed with krogan ryncol and gasoline, and a smell that no one has been able to effectively describe due to losing their minds shortly afterward.

It is noteworthy that the less foul, if that is possible, version of this coffee was present on the Normandy SR-1 two years ago. Discussions with Shepard's surviving Marines reveal that the coffee maker responsible was removed from the ship after the conclusion of the Benezia Incident, and replaced with a new coffee maker not sourced from the SA.

And by removed, that is to say Shepard herself placed it in the cargo bay and fired on it with an ODIN assault shotgun to the cheers of her crew, before spacing the wreckage and firing on it again with the ship's main armament.

Suffice to say the humans _were not fond_ _of it_.

Recently a more hazardous version of the coffee has surfaced. It has shown to be toxic, flammable, radioactive, explosive under certain conditions, and to have a foul smell described by some as "not belonging in our reality." It has not been ascertained what this means. Those foolish enough to _drink_ this coffee in excessive quantities have been known to scream incoherently about "dark monsters coming to consume everything," prior to exhibiting vastly disturbing behavior seen in old horror vids, or dissolving on the spot into a highly caustic puddle capable of melting through most substances. Presumably under unknown conditions, this version of the coffee reacts with organic matter in a highly unpleasant way to produce this effect.

Strangely, krogan appear to be immune to the coffee's ill effects. Shepard's adoptive krogan son, Grunt, has been witnessed drinking it regularly. This is a habit Shepard has tried to stop, as she has other uses for the coffee.

The Cerberus Revenant Cell lead by Shepard has been experimenting on weaponizing SA coffee, putting it to better use than lowering the morale of both unfortunate civilians and the SA's soldiers. The first known case of this was a "coffee grenade" capable of spreading the substance over a large area, causing enemies to lose all will to fight and flee in horror and disgust.

Further experiments have shown that the more hazardous version of the coffee is superior to common toxic ammo mods, and has been known to cause spontaneous combustion in targets when shot with it. In cases without combustion, the target is severely poisoned and loses their sanity. Other targets nearby fear the coffee on some instinctive level, and surrender or flee.

Tests in combat with Collector forces show the coffee rapidly poisons them, before causing them to disintegrate while simultaneously burning. Collectors have been noted to avoid the coffee if it has contaminated an area, indicating the Collectors do indeed fear _something_.

As Shepard is a genius with weapons design, and has shown little to no trace of pity when dealing with her enemies, more developments should be expected.

* * *

**SA Tea:**

While SA coffee appears to be a morale lowering method, at least in earlier incarnations, SA Tea has a dark history. It appears that it was first intended specifically to allow Commissars to assassinate problem individuals in a fashion that did not obviously implicate the Commissariat. The point of this is not known, and our agents cannot exactly question a Commissar on the topic. What is known is the Commissars use fear to subdue the populace, with all the flamethrowers and whatnot, and subtlety doesn't make any sense.

SA Tea appears, at first, to be an innocuous beverage just like normal tea which has been consumed by humans since they figured out how to put leaves in boiling water. However when prepared in a specific way known to Commissars, SA tea becomes extremely acidic and is capable of burning through starship armor. A subject unfortunate enough to drink this abomination dies horribly, the tea burning through their body while somehow converting the subject's fluids into more highly caustic tea.

Due to an accident involving a crew member of a ship accidentally preparing the tea in the way that activates its properties, that it to say exposure to old SA coffee, it is now used for other purposes, albeit in a weakened form. These include purging the waste tanks on ships, destruction of garbage (spent ammo blocks, bad heat sinks, old omni-gel, etc), and sometimes to threaten batarian slavers with predictable results.

On the Normandy SR-2, Shepard accidentally prepared full strength SA tea in the fashion that activates its properties, resulting in a hole through the mug, multiple decks, and lower hull. It was intended to be used for garbage disposal and ship maintenance as previously described.

The human mercenary, Zaeed Massani, made Shepard promise to "use the guddamned SA-Toxin on the Broker and get it off the guddamned ship."

Tea for drinking purposes is carefully sourced from elsewhere.

* * *

**SA Ration Biscuits:**

SA ration biscuits, well not chemical weapons as with coffee and tea, can still be dangerous or useful - although not useful for the purpose they are intended for. In fact, given their composition, I'm not exactly certain why the High Lords and the SA thought this would serve as 'food'.

These were an attempt by the SA to preserve food for long patrols, in the event other methods of preservation were compromised by power loss. The biscuits are preserved a little too well, as they are inedible unless softened first.

By softened, I mean running them over repeatedly with a Mako or other heavy vehicle in order to form cracks in the biscuit, followed by placing the biscuit in a pressure cooker of water for a full day. This can be accelerated by adding a **small** amount of activated SA tea to the boiling water, at most 1% of the water's volume. Too much will result in the cooker melting and possibly exploding, as well as making the biscuit toxic. Use of tea to accelerate the process is not recommended.

The end result is still quite hard and has been known to break teeth, so an additional day of cooking is usually done.

SA Marines, who would rather go to what passes for a vorcha fast food business than eat these biscuits, have found more appealing uses for them. They can be used as ammo blocks for standard mass accelerator weapons, although the weapon will need a great deal of cleaning afterward.

As an aside, the biscuits are claimed to be high in dietary iron, but this is ridiculous. SA Marines claim that when one bites down into something soft in such a biscuit it tends to be an iron nail.

They can be strapped to armor as additional plating (see subfile 4429-c, '_Immunity to Plasma Blasts from Biscuits_') , and can be used as improvised melee or thrown weapons. One notable case involved an N7 soldier whose weapon malfunctioned with one batarian slaver left, so he combined a biscuit with a biotic throw as an improvised cannon.

* * *

**Warnings:**

The following advisories are considered mandatory reading.

**Consuming SA Coffee is not recommended.**

Due to the effects SA coffee has on all sentient life, except the krogan, this is nothing we need to be experimenting with. And certainly not drinking.

**Consuming SA Tea is not recommended.**

It would be more intelligent to give the vorcha a dreadnaught than to drink a substance that melts through ship hulls. There are less painful methods to execute targets, including immolation and immersion in pure acid.

**Determining just what the Collapse is wrong with the High Lords is highly recommended**

If they're giving this to _their own soldiers_ to eat and drink, who knows what toxins they might be putting in the fish they export to us.


End file.
